


to you, on the horizon

by headlong



Category: A3! (Video Game)
Genre: Character Study, Combination Sexuality And Masculinity Crisis, Developing Relationship, M/M, Masculinity Crisis, Sexuality Crisis, past unrequited tasutsumu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:01:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25651042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/headlong/pseuds/headlong
Summary: Muku's finally playing a prince, Taichi's reeling from a rejection, and Azuma is an endless ocean. And Tasuku might be in over his head.
Relationships: Nanao Taichi & Takatoo Tasuku, Sakisaka Muku & Takatoo Tasuku, Takatoo Tasuku/Yukishiro Azuma
Comments: 27
Kudos: 112





	to you, on the horizon

**Author's Note:**

> content warnings: as tagged, but also some drowning metaphors, and discussion of canon character death (azuma's family).
> 
> spoiler warnings: takes place during floral prince, but no spoilers beyond casting and a couple lines of borrowed dialogue. no other spoilers beyond some allusions to act 8, tasuku's brother's name, and a single line from an old godza play that comes up in die by the sword.

It’s a grey Sunday afternoon, colourless with rain, when Tasuku opens his door and finds Azuma on the other side. Like some kind of spirit, waiting for permission to be invited in. And Azuma himself is perfectly dry, not a hair out of place, despite the weather and the humidity; but when Tasuku steps aside to let him in, the smell of rain still trails behind him.

“Thank you for having me,” Azuma says, and slips off his shoes. Then he settles on the couch like he belongs there, legs folded delicately in front of him. Which he may as well, considering how often he visits these days, and how much time they spend together outside that. When he glances up at Tasuku, his face is soft in the uncertain light.

“Of course,” Tasuku says.

Even though Tsumugi is out, and the two of them are alone together, he still sits a polite distance away. As if Azuma doesn’t borrow his bed once a week; like he doesn’t know the heat of Azuma’s skin, or the way he sometimes wakes, gasping, from nightmares. Because even if that’s the case, it doesn’t mean anything. Azuma will sleep next to any friend who offers, with all of Winter Troupe and a handful of others. And even if it  _ did  _ happen to mean something, even if Tasuku is the one he seeks out the most, or the one he’s inclined to linger with in the mornings: the same rules don’t apply between them during daytime, regardless.

And, even though Azuma has so comfortably seen himself in, he doesn’t move to speak. Just sits there quietly, letting the sound of the rain filter back in around them. At first, Tasuku wants to dismiss it as one of his usual visits, where he comes by just to talk; but his demeanour seems a little off, a different kind of introspective, in a way that suggests he might want something. And even though Tasuku is awful at small talk, Azuma is someone who makes him want to try. He folds his hands in his lap, knuckles covering knuckles, and turns his gaze away from their topography. 

“So,” he says. “What’s up.”

“Nothing’s up, Tasuku. Do I need to have an excuse to visit you?”

“Well, no, but… If you need something from me, you should say it.” 

“Mmm, need is a strong word. But I thought you might be able to tell. As a matter of fact, even though I know I don’t need a reason, I do have one today.” Azuma tips his head as he smiles, bangs falling around his face. “A friend of a friend got me tickets for a play next week. I thought maybe you’d like to come with me.”

“What play?”

“The new production by Comet Troupe.”

And that name alone has Tasuku interested. Comet had been nominated for last year’s Fleur Award, and by all accounts, this play is the company at their finest; it’s been getting rave reviews, and playing to a sold-out house every night. Azuma would have needed a miracle to get tickets – although, considering how many connections he seems to have, maybe not a particularly major one.

“When? I can’t do –”

“Mondays or Wednesdays,” Azuma says. “I know, Tasuku. I thought maybe we could go next Friday.” 

“Hold on.”

Tasuku pulls out his phone, checks his calendar. He has rehearsals for his latest guest role that day, but they’ll be done by the evening, and he’ll probably still have the energy to catch a play afterward. And it helps that he doesn’t have anything on for that weekend, either. He double-taps on Friday, and the prompt to input a new event pops up, blank and hopeful.

“Friday works. Does it start at seven?”

“Eight.” Azuma lets that sit for a moment, then adds: “And we could do drinks, after. If you’d like.”

And he says that so casually; like there’s nothing resting on it, like they’d really just be two troupemates going out to a bar to talk about a play. Like it wouldn’t be another blow to the pretense this is just friendship. Because Tasuku’s no expert on relationships, but he thinks he knows a decent amount about Azuma by now. And Azuma’s different around him, when they’re alone, compared to when he’s with anyone else in Mankai. Softer, maybe. Less flirtatious, and more sincere, like he can relax. And Tasuku’s definitely never seen Azuma look at anyone else so gently, not the way Azuma looks at him.

Not that Azuma’s been blatant about his interest, though, or intent on pushing it. All things considered, he’s been astoundingly patient. Content to invite Tasuku for drinks, or to bring him tea that’s good for scratchy throats, or even just to come by and sit in silence, seemingly happy just to be together.

The catch is that Tasuku’s own feelings are a mystery to him. Not because he hasn’t been in relationships before, but because none of those relationships had remotely prepared him for Azuma.

His last relationship had ended maybe a year before he’d joined Mankai, dwindled into nothing. She had been a college student, an anthropology major, who he’d met after being dragged to a mixer, and it had lasted about a year and a half. He’d thought it had been serious; that maybe they’d go places together. Not that she was the one, necessarily, or that he even believed in the concept, but she was someone he could have seen himself with. Even if it hadn’t been a storybook romance, and even if there had been patches where they were both too busy to see each other, it had worked. And it was supposed to have gone on working. They’d even been talking around the idea of getting an apartment, before it happened. Before everything about them had started to feel wrong, before they had stopped fitting together the way they’d used to, for no real reason at all. It hadn’t been her fault, and it hadn’t even really been his, but one day she’d sat down with him and said,  _ I think we should end this. _

__

What was it Tsumugi had said during Die By the Sword – no, that Tsumugi’s always said about him?  _ Tasuku just needs a push sometimes. _ And she had needed to push, under the circumstances, because it hadn’t occurred to him to try. Or even that they were the kind of stuck that wouldn’t fix itself, tipped too far in one direction to ever regain equilibrium.

__

He’d been a wreck the next day at rehearsal. Less because of outright sadness, and mostly because he hadn’t started to process it yet; didn’t really know how to start working through a breakup that was mostly blameless. Kamikizaka had nearly kicked him out of the production after the tenth or fifteenth time he’d ruined his delivery, and settled for sending him home early. The prince of God Troupe, the foremost star of Veludo Way, and he still couldn’t have stopped his relationship from ending as a long, drawn-out goodbye.

__

And the bottom line of Tasuku’s relationship history is this: to say that Azuma makes him feel out of his depth – elegant, compassionate Azuma, hard to read but never able to mask his hunger to be loved – would be the understatement of the century. He clears his throat.

__

“Drinks sound good.”

__

“Perfect.” Azuma’s smile is sliver-thin, a ray of sun peeking from behind a cloud. “I know just the place. We’ll go somewhere new.”

__

“You said that the last time.”

__

“I know a lot of bars, Tasuku. We can keep working our way through them until we find one you like.”

__

“The last one we went to wasn’t bad.”

__

“I know that’s a compliment, in Tasuku-speak, but I still think we can do better.”

__

“…What’s that supposed to mean.”

__

“Mm, well. Just that you’re you, really.”

__

Tasuku’s breath snags behind his teeth. Because it had been far, far simpler to deal with Azuma in the strange middle ground between acquaintances and friends, when he had been content to insist that Tasuku was cute. At least it had been easy to refute those surface-level compliments; it’s much less obvious what he’s supposed to do about  _ Tasuku-speak_, and things which prove Azuma actually knows him.

__

But he’s saved when someone knocks at the door, and the sudden noise startles him back into himself. He hadn’t even been expecting one visitor today, not really, and suddenly he might be dealing with two. But at the same time, he doesn’t want to leave that last comment unanswered. So he vacillates, trapped between feeling like he needs to say something more, and going to see who’s calling. And in the end, he pushes himself to his feet. “Sorry, but can I get that? It might be important.”

__

“I don’t mind.”

__

That makes him feel no more settled, but he paces over to the door anyway. When he opens it, the first thing that hits him is the thick scent of rain, and then – he takes in who his guest is. It’s Taichi, and he looks entirely unlike himself. His expression is dull, his shoulders are slumped, and his eyes are tellingly red and puffy. And when he speaks, his voice sounds like it’s crawling up his throat. “Hey. Uh, can I come in?”

__

Tasuku half-glances back at Azuma, not sure whether to be grateful or annoyed for the interruption; but Taichi clearly needs help, and although Tasuku isn’t used to being sought out for things like this, he definitely isn’t going to turn the boy away. “Yeah, sure.”

__

“Sorry. I hope now is okay.”

__

“It’s fine.”

__

But no sooner has he waved Taichi in, towards his side of the room, and closed the door, that another knock comes.

__

Taichi startles. “Uh, Tasuku, are you sure you aren’t expecting anyone else?”

__

He trades another look with Azuma over Taichi’s shoulder, but finds no answers there. “Not that I know of. Sit down, though. I’ll only be a second.”

__

The boy wavers, but takes a seat on the couch, and draws his knees up to his chest. Confident in Azuma’s ability to hold down that particular fort, Tasuku answers the door.

__

The visitor this time is Muku, clutching a script, and vibrating like there’s electricity under his skin. When he registers who he’s talking to, his eyes somehow grow even larger. “Oh! Perfect. Tasuku, there’s something I wanted to ask you –” 

__

He pauses. Takes in Tasuku, and then the room behind him: Taichi, curled unhappily into one corner of the sofa, and Azuma next to him, legs crossed at the ankles and a tiny smile on his lips. Then Muku coughs, and the moment shatters.

__

“Um, sorry. Am I interrupting something?”

__

“…Probably not.”

__

Tasuku still lets him in, of course. It’s a little uncomfortable at first, Muku hovering like he’s still not sure he’s allowed to be here, caught between his excitement and his hesitation. Eventually they manage to wind up with the high schoolers on the couch, and Azuma perched elegantly on one of the arms. And Tasuku, standing around awkwardly, trying not to come off like he’s at a loose end in his own room, looks them over.

__

The impressions that Muku and Taichi are giving off, at opposite ends of the sofa, couldn’t be more different if they tried: one barely able to contain his energy, the other hunched miserably into himself. It’s almost as if they’re doing impressions of each other’s usual selves. And although Tasuku isn’t tactless enough to say that, he’s completely at a loss about how to fill the awful silence.

__

Thankfully, Azuma takes care of that, too.

__

“I can leave, if you two would prefer to speak with Tasuku alone.”

__

Muku’s  _ no, I don’t mind! _ completely drowns out Taichi’s muttered  _ ‘s fine_, but Azuma shoots Tasuku a sideways look, just to be sure. He nods, and kneels across from his guests at the low coffee table. Azuma flows off the arm of the couch, then comes to sit by his left, legs tucked neatly under him.

__

“So,” Tasuku ventures, once the silence is threatening to become oppressive. “Nanao, you arrived first. You can start.”

__

Taichi raises his head listlessly. “Nah. My question’s kinda long, so… Mucchan should probably go first.”

__

“Oh. Um, only if you’re sure?”

__

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

__

“All right.” Muku squares his shoulders. “So, Tasuku… you know how the next Summer Troupe play is a story about a prince? I was wondering if you could maybe coach me. Since you’ve played so many princes before, and everything.”

__

It’s a strange thing to notice, under the circumstances, but Tasuku can’t help but be aware that Azuma is very pointedly not looking at him. That makes him hesitate, and Muku seizes the opportunity to barrel on.

__

“It’s okay. You definitely don’t have to agree to help or anything, because I know you’re really busy. And it doesn’t need to be soon, even if you do, since I need to learn my lines. But then again, I’m such a flavourless and misshapen and undercooked roll cake that people will get sick just looking at me, so I need all the practice I can get, and even after that I won’t be able to convince anyone and –”

__

“Muku,” Azuma says, “breathe. You’re going to make a wonderful prince.”

__

By some miracle, that actually seems to work, and the tension fades. Muku deflates all at once, suddenly looking much smaller.

__

“Of course I’ll help,” Tasuku says firmly, though belatedly. Beaten to the punch, as always. “You’ve finally gotten the chance to play your dream role, and I want that to go well for you.”

__

“Ah… thank goodness. I feel better knowing you’re on my side.”

__

“Then let me sit in,” Taichi interrupts, with a surprising amount of force considering how lifeless he had looked a minute ago. His eyes are very, very serious. “Please.”

__

All things considered, it makes sense for Taichi to be making a request like this. But the timing on it is still odd, considering that he doesn’t have any Mankai commitments coming up; and also that, ever since his lead role in Mantou Fist, he seems to have shaken off the worst of his insecurities. Surely by now, he should have realised that his strengths as an actor and Tasuku’s are nothing alike.

__

“I’m not opposed to that, Nanao. But what brought this on?”

__

“Oh. Yeah. I guess I should talk about myself now, huh.”

__

“Only if you’re comfortable,” Azuma says. “But we’ll listen to anything you’d like to tell us.”

__

“No, I should talk. I came here for a reason, so. Uh. Getting to the point. I confessed to a girl today.”

__

A profound silence follows that declaration, interspersed with light rain against the room’s window. Taichi, heedless, hurries on.

__

“We met at an event last month, cause she goes to one of the schools near O High, and we got talking, and she’s super cool. And I really thought that maybe, this time, it’d work out, but – well. Yeah. She turned me down pretty harshly.” Taichi’s mouth twists into something horrible, self-deprecating. “So I wanted to ask you to teach me to be more like you. Manlier, and cooler, so I definitely won’t get rejected again.”

__

It’s true that Tasuku’s never been rejected before, but that’s probably because he’s never really gone out of his way to make the first move. His relationships had all kind of just… happened to him, falling inevitably into place. Although that’s another thing it won’t be helpful for Taichi to hear. Instead, he moves the conversation in a different direction.

__

“And you think lessons on being a prince will help?”

__

Taichi laughs shakily. “I think anything would.”

__

It’s a ridiculous thing, but looking at the two completely different boys on his sofa, Tasuku’s seized by the urge to tell them that princes aren’t real. That actual relationships aren’t anything like they’ve learned from shoujo manga, or men’s magazines. That trying to be a good man doesn’t mean being a happy one. But that would break their hearts; and if he’s being honest, the problem doesn’t lie with princes. It’s always, always lain with Tasuku.

__

“I’m all right with it if Sakisaka is.”

__

Muku jolts, startled at being addressed. “I don’t mind at all. And Taichi, I know I’m just me, but tell me if there’s any way I can help, too.”

__

“Yeah. Thanks, Mucchan.” Taichi fidgets, twisting his hands in his lap. “So, uh, I guess just let me know whenever that lesson ends up happening?”

__

“Of course.”

__

“Then I. I should go, probably. I’ve got a ton of homework to do. Thanks again, though, guys. You really came through for me.”

__

“Don’t thank us until we’ve actually helped you,” Tasuku says, and it comes out awful and dry. “But if there’s anything else I can do –”

__

“Or me,” Azuma says, gently but firmly. “Although I’m not as good a candidate as Tasuku, when it comes to things like this, I’d still like to help where I can.”

__

Taichi scrubs at his face with the sleeve of his sweater. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll let you know. See you, guys.”

__

He sees himself out, not actually looking much less miserable. It’s more than a little worrying, considering his usual demeanour, and the fact that Tasuku agreeing to help doesn’t seem to have done anything; but he doesn’t get the chance to dwell on that, not when Muku springs to his feet right after.

__

“I’m going to go and read through my lines. The sooner I can get started on this, the better, I think. And thanks from me too, Tasuku.”

__

“No problem,” he says. “I’ll be ready to help whenever you’d like, although I’ll need a few days warning.”

__

“Okay.” Muku nods firmly. “Bye, Tasuku. Bye, Azu.”

__

The smell of rain from outside gusts in when he departs, bringing with it an unexpected chill. And even though both of Tasuku’s guests have left, one buoyed by their meeting far more than the other, the implications of their requests linger.

__

Azuma waits until both Muku and Taichi are almost certainly out of earshot. And then he says, “Are you sure –”

__

“What?” Tasuku asks. “Oh. Of course.”

__

Azuma just hums, knocks their hands loosely together. One of Tasuku’s favourite things about him is that he doesn’t push; that he’s willing to let things run their course, and that he trusts people to talk about their problems when it really matters. And this new thing taking shape between them – this thing where Azuma teases him with particular fondness, where Tasuku tries to be the first to catch it when he starts drifting, where one night, when Azuma hadn’t been able to sleep, he’d knocked quietly at the door of room 204 and Tasuku had let him in without a word – hasn’t changed that.

__

(Tsumugi hadn’t said anything about it, when he’d found Azuma in their room the next morning. But it had been obvious from the way he had looked at Tasuku that he’d known. He’d  _ known_, which is terrifying, when Tasuku still doesn’t even know himself.)

__

Still, he’s left feeling like he has to justify his choice. “You know I don’t really get asked to help with things like this. To devise workout regimes or fix things, but not with personal problems. And… I want to get it right.”

__

“You don’t have anything to prove to me, Tasuku. Or to Muku and Taichi.”

__

“I don’t not have something to prove.”

__

“Mmm, well, I can see why you’d feel that way. You have a lot riding on this, don’t you.”

__

Another understatement. Muku’s probably looked up to Tasuku ever since he first joined Mankai, even though he’d been kind of an ass for the first month. But Taichi – he doesn’t even know how long Taichi’s idolised him, although it’s definitely been years. Since Tasuku was God Troupe’s star, or maybe even longer, and Taichi one of its nameless extras. Since before there was anything about Tasuku remotely worth admiring.

__

Because even though things are better than they were, most of the time, some days Tasuku still feels like nothing more than a mirage. Impressive from a distance, but just hot air up close. And Taichi’s been looking at him so long that finding out the truth might shatter him.

__

“Yeah,” Tasuku says, because it’s easiest. “Something like that.”

__

*

__

When Tasuku had been young, he had wanted to be someone like Fuyuki.

__

He hadn’t learned to think in the vocabulary of princes back then, not yet. But for as long as he could remember, Fuyuki had always been kind, and generous, and self-assured, and good at talking to others, and better at taking care of them. And Tasuku hadn’t even been able to begrudge his brother being everyone’s favourite, not when he had been Tasuku’s favourite too.

__

Fuyuki had gone out with a girl for the first time in ninth grade, his last year of junior high. According to his own retelling, they’d been paired up to do a presentation in English class, and wound up developing feelings from there. And she’d confessed to him on their school’s rooftop, like something out of a drama. Like a picture-perfect couple.

__

He had talked about her non-stop, of course. But he had only brought her home on one occasion, maybe two months later, to have dinner with Tasuku and their parents. Their mother had liked her; their father had gotten home from work late, and mostly asked her very token questions. And Tasuku had spent the whole meal trying not to be obvious about watching her. Trying to decipher what about this girl, who barely spoke and picked at her food and didn’t smile once, had appealed to his brother. Had made him fall in love with her, or at least in like.

__

It hadn’t lasted, of course. Maybe a week after that dinner, Fuyuki had suddenly become quiet and listless, without an obvious explanation. So Tasuku had knocked on his brother’s door one night, determined to figure out what was going on. And when he had stepped inside, he had found Fuyuki flopped upside-down off the edge of his bed, still in uniform, looking blankly up at the ceiling.

__

Tasuku had forced himself to stay in the doorway, unwilling to barge in more than necessary. Keenly aware, as he gathered up his courage, how much he was out of his depth here.  _ Hey, Fuyuki. Is everything okay? _

__

_ Yeah. _

__

_ Really? _

__

_ Well, not really. My girlfriend and I broke up. _

__

_ Oh. Sorry. _

__

Fuyuki had just shrugged.  _ That’s okay. It was pretty much mutual. _

__

_ Mutual how? _

__

(This had been years before Tasuku had learned that  _ mutual, _ most of the time, was a smokescreen to obscure the fact that things hadn’t been mutual at all; that it was a way for the person who had been broken up with to save face. But coming from Fuyuki, even that had sounded like the truth.)

__

_ It’s hard to explain. I guess we realised we weren’t good together, and agreed to end it. But we said we’d stay friends, though, so we’ll be fine. _

__

_ Even though you were in love with her? _

__

That had startled a laugh out of him.  _ I don’t know if we were together long enough for that. _

__

_ But you wanted to be. _

__

_ I don’t know. I might have. _

__

And that had been the end of that. Fuyuki had returned to normal, more or less, and Tasuku had just been glad for it.

__

So romance had gone back to being the furthest thing from his mind. In the next few years, Fuyuki went through a couple more girlfriends, but they hadn’t been particularly significant. None of those relationships had lasted very long, and he’d never brought any of them home. So Tasuku had never given any more thought to girls, not beyond the usual bond with his classmates, and they’d never given any to him.

__

But in his first year of high school, one of his schoolmates had confessed. There’d been a note in his shoe locker one morning, asking him to go to an empty clubroom after last period, and he had seen no reason not to do that. And when he’d arrived, he’d found a popular girl from the class next door already there; one he’d never really spoken to, because he spent all his time with Tsumugi and their circle of guy friends, but she had clearly been expecting him.

__

He hadn’t even known what she’d wanted until she’d started talking. Until she’d said  _ I asked you to meet me because – because I really like you, Takato.  _ And she’d told a story about seeing him messing around with a soccer ball one day after school, still in his uniform, in the park across from campus, and how happy he had looked. And though she’d always thought he was serious and quiet, that had made her realise he wasn’t unapproachable. That there was more to him than his stoic demeanour; that there were things about him she knew nothing about, and that she’d realised she wanted to learn them.

__

To say that it had blindsided him would have been an understatement. It had made no sense, for her to have those feelings, when they had no relationship to speak of. Even less sense for her to have latched onto him, because of a chance encounter in a moment where he thought he had been alone.

__

So Tasuku had stood there, fighting the instinct to bolt, heart rattling in his ears, and fumbled his way through admitting he didn’t think of her like that. And only much later, once she’d fled and he’d left campus and jogged halfway to the train station, had he realised he’d forgotten to suggest they should be friends.

__

(Thinking back on it, now, he can’t remember her face. She had been… pretty, probably, in an inoffensive way. But whether her hair had been long or short, her eyes brown or black, whether she had cried quietly or loudly or elegantly or red-faced when he had turned her down, is beyond him. The only part of the encounter he remembers clearly is what he’d repeated to her, over and over again.  _ I’m sorry. I can’t be what you want._)

__

He’d spent the rest of his journey home home thinking about how Fuyuki would have done it better. How Fuyuki would have thanked her for being honest about her feelings, gracefully turned her down, and asked to be better friends from then on. Not been ambushed, and completely messed up the landing.

__

But it had only occurred to him much later, lying awake that night, that maybe Fuyuki would have been interested in that girl in the first place.

__

He’d been too ashamed to talk to Fuyuki about it, after. Even though Fuyuki would’ve known exactly what to tell him, and how best to say it. But Tsumugi had noticed something was off, because Tsumugi always noticed things like that, and had waited until their commute home the next day to pry it out of him.

__

Tsumugi had steered him into his favourite cafe at the time, the one with a white facade, a block down from their local station. He’d ordered his usual, waited for Tasuku to choose as well, and paid for both their drinks, even despite his protests. And once they’d sat down and their orders had arrived, Tsumugi had looked at him dead-on and said:  _ all right, Tasuku. What happened? _

__

(His ideal self had probably picked up some elements of Tsumugi after that, too. Although he’d still never admit to it.)

__

_ Nothing happened. _

__

_ Tasuku. _

__

_ Nothing important, anyway. _

__

_ You’ve been quiet all day, though. So, whatever happened, it can’t actually have been nothing. _

__

_ …Do we have to do this here? _

__

_ We can go somewhere else, if you’d prefer. _

__

_ You know it’s not that. _

__

_ Well, it’s fine if you don’t want to talk to me. I know Fuyuki would listen, if you felt like telling him. But, please, at least talk to someone. _

__

Tsumugi had sipped his coffee; Tasuku had already finished his own, left with nothing but dregs, no matter how he tilted his cup. And he had caved in the end, of course. Because, when it had come down to it: Fuyuki would have been kind about this, let him work through his feelings in his own time, and Tasuku hadn’t felt deserving of kindness.

__

_ Yesterday, _ he had said, starting slowly. Focusing on the wood of the table, a smooth deep red, the grain of it perpendicular under his fingers.  _ After school. A girl from 1-A confessed to me. _

__

Tsumugi hadn’t immediately asked who. Even though he paid more attention to their yearmates, and could at least have put a name to the face, and maybe even a personality. He’d only nodded, encouraging Tasuku on.

__

_ She said – well, that doesn’t matter. I told her I wasn’t interested. And I think I’m confused, still, because her feelings didn’t make sense. I didn’t know anything about her, so what could she have known about me? _

__

_ Having feelings for someone isn’t supposed to be about sense, I think. And, either way, she was probably paying a lot more attention to you than you were to her. _

__

_ Still. Her feelings were based on chance, and we’d hardly talked before yesterday. She probably just saw what she wanted to see in me. _

__

_ Taachan, _ Tsumugi had said, the old nickname slipping out involuntarily, like it always did when he was thinking harder about what to say than how to say it.  _ That’s too cynical. _

__

_ Maybe. But that isn’t what’s really bothering me. Mostly, I’m… angry at myself for handling it wrong. I got stage fright the moment she started talking. And I’m supposed to be –  _

__

_ It’s the first time something like this has happened to you, though. So it’s fine to not have done it perfectly. Besides, there’s probably no good way to turn someone down. All you could’ve done was try hurt her feelings as little as possible, and it sounds like you tried. _

__

And Tsumugi – had sounded almost like he had been speaking from experience.

__

It had occurred to Tasuku, then, that just because Tsumugi had never gone out with anyone, that didn’t mean nobody had ever confessed to him. Maybe some girl had even called him out to the same clubroom, or delivered her confession in the same words. And the more Tasuku had thought about it, the more he had been unable to shake that suspicion. After all, they weren’t that young any more, and it had been a long time since the pair of them had shared everything with each other. And it had made something hot and ugly and alien nest in the pit of his stomach.

__

_ Tasuku, _ Tsumugi had said,  _ you’re frowning. _

__

_ …You’d tell me if anyone confessed to you, wouldn’t you? _

__

_ Well, yes. You’re my best friend. _

__

_ So, has someone? _

__

He had gone quiet, after that, even though it hadn’t seemed like a difficult question. And even though Tsumugi was supposed to have been the observant one, the one who was good at reading people, the one things had always made sense to: Tasuku had still known him. And Tsumugi had known that he had known, because his eyes had dropped to his hands.

__

_ On our last day of ninth grade. I didn’t think it would matter to you. _

__

_ It doesn’t, _ Tasuku had said, even though his tone had made a lie of his words.  _ I was just asking. _

__

_ I told her that I was sorry, but I wasn’t interested. _

__

_ Why not? _

__

_ Huh? _

__

_ Why weren’t you interested. _

__

_ I don’t know. I just wasn’t.  _

__

_ …What else did you say to her? _

__

_ Well, it feels like it was a long time ago, so it’s a little hard to remember. I’m sure I handled it badly too, though.  _ Tsumugi had nudged his cup around its saucer.  _ But you’re right. I should have said something to you. _

__

_ No, you shouldn’t have. You don’t owe me anything. _

__

_ Are you angry with me or not? _

__

Tasuku had made himself exhale.  _ I’m not.  _

__

And that had been the truth. Because he had really just been angry at himself for getting it wrong, angry at himself for caring so much, and angriest of all for not being able to make sense of his feelings. Tsumugi had just been the one to make him confront it.

__

Even though that had been the first confession he’d received, it had been far from his last. He’d gained a lot of muscle in eleventh grade, which had made girls take notice of him, and that was to say nothing of his university years or his time with God Troupe. But it had never gotten any easier: not anticipating the confessions, not turning girls down, and not the tacky taste it always left in his mouth to know that he had failed them somehow. And not the feeling that something about him was broken, that he couldn’t manage to feel the same.

__

Or the feeling, curling like something bitter in his stomach, that it never would have gone this way for someone else.

__

*

__

But Muku’s ideal prince probably doesn’t look anything like Fuyuki. Or like the countless princes Tasuku had crafted, and then played, in his image.

__

Muku’s ideal prince is – something else. Something he’s always wanted to be, not something he’s tried to use in hindsight to make sense of his life. But Tasuku will have to find that out if he wants to help, which is why he finds himself outside room 202 a day or two later, frowning at the numbers by the door.

__

Muku doesn’t answer his knock, but Kazunari does. And as strange as it is for Tasuku to be here, as little as the two of them have to do with each other, Kazunari still brightens at the sight of him.

__

“Heya, Tax! Fancy seeing you here. Whatcha after?”

__

“Is Sakisaka around?”

__

“No dice, sorry. He went to Yukki’s to cram for a test, and said he wouldn’t be back for ages. But I can totes take a message or something.”

__

In the room behind Kazunari, off to one side, a shelf full of manga is clearly visible. All with pink titles on white spines, and names in flowery fonts. Tasuku tears his gaze away.

__

“That’s fine. Actually, can I come in?”

__

“Yup! My casa is your casa, as they say. Though I’m like, kinda crazy busy ATM, so I dunno how long I can host ya.” 

__

“That’s no issue. Thanks for having me.”

__

Kazunari steps back and holds the door open, and Tasuku catches a whiff of his cologne as he steps inside. Although he rotates through scents almost arbitrarily, today’s is something subtle but floral, present without being overwhelming. Honestly, it’s admirable that Kazunari can pull something like that off. Whenever Tasuku had tried using cologne in the past, it had just made him feel self-conscious, like he’d been dragged bodily through a garden by way of a temple full of incense, and everyone around him was too polite to comment. 

__

There’s not much time to ruminate on that, though, because Kazunari ushers him onto one of the pouffes by the room’s central table. Then he takes the seat opposite, and presents another sunny smile. “So! What can I do for my fave Tax today?”

__

“Sakisaka asked me to help him prepare for his role in Summer Troupe’s next production. And I haven’t had time to do more than skim the script, but he told me he’s playing a prince.”

__

“Uh-huh.”

__

“And I thought… he reads a lot of shoujo manga, so the kind of prince he wants to play is probably influenced by that. Do you have any recommendations I can read for research?”

__

“Oh, def! Hang on a sec.” Kazunari stands and hurries over to his own shelf, which is no less full of books, and hunts through his collection. He hums under his breath as he plucks out a couple of volumes, moving with the intent of someone who already knows what he’s looking for. Tasuku waits uncomfortably, legs starting to cramp a little. But it’s not long before Kazunari returns, drops his stash on the table, and looks at him expectantly.

__

Tasuku picks up the topmost book. A girl with long hair and a sailor-suit uniform meets his gaze from the cover, standing alone in the middle of an oval running track; behind her, in the distance, a sprinting figure races towards the finish line. According to the title printed in sleek white font, it’s called  _ Heart-Pounding Hundred Metres. _

__

“This series is Mukkun’s fave! He got me a copy of the first three volumes for my bday, so it’s g if you wanna borrow. Or if you just wanna sit here and read. I’m easy.”

__

“You don’t mind if I stay?”

__

“Nope! I mean, like I said, I have a ton of work to do. But I trust you to be quiet.”

__

So Kazunari heads over to his desk. And Tasuku resettles himself on the pouffe, works the tension out of his back, and reaches for the first volume.

__

It turns out to be a story about – a sprinter. An ordinary girl encounters a mysterious boy, running alone on her school’s track, in the last week of holidays before eleventh grade. They talk briefly, and it turns out he’s training to run the hundred-metre dash in under ten seconds, even though that’s an impossible goal, and even though he knows it’s impossible; but then the boy leaves before she can get his name. Of course, he ends up transferring into her class the next week, but when he does, he acts as strange and distant to her as if they’d never met. And the more Tasuku reads, the more a gnawing suspicion settles into his bones.

__

When he finishes the first volume, maybe forty minutes later, he sets it face-down on the table. The room’s natural light is muted with the tones of early evening, but the pink and white on the cover are no less stark. Tasuku straightens the book up, so it’s lying parallel to the table’s edge, and glances over to his host.

__

“Miyoshi.”

__

Kazunari doesn’t move, but he does turn his head a little, and the scratching of his pencil stops. “Mmm?”

__

“Sorry to interrupt. But… you’re sure this is Sakisaka’s favourite?”

__

“Totes, three-hundred-percent sure. Why do you ask?”

__

“It doesn’t have any princes in it.”

__

That makes Kazunari turn around all the way, green eyes troubled. “Oh. Yeah, the hero in  _ HeartHun  _ is pretty unconvensh by shoujo standards. He doesn’t start out supes princely, but a ton of its charm is that, like, he steps up and develops into one. His arc really hits when it hits, y’know?”

__

“That isn’t it. I mean, I’m surprised because I thought Sakisaka’s favourite manga would be more… fantasy-themed. That its hero would be a literal prince.”

__

“Well yeah, he likes those ones too. Like, the first manga he ever lent me was this fantasy about a prince and a cross-dressing lady knight, and he loves all the stuff by that mangaka, so I think that’s pretty telling. But this is his very number-one fave, and that’s for a reason.” Kazunari crosses his long legs. “Tell you what, Tax. Why don’tcha take my copies of  _ HeartHun _ with you? I think it’ll prob help if you chew it over for a bit. Plus, Mukkun’ll def let you borrow the rest if you ask. It wrapped up last year, so you can read the whole thing, if you need.”

__

He glances over at the pile of books still untouched on the table. The sprinter hero of  _ Heart-Pounding Hundred Metres, _ the supposed prince who’s nothing like one, meets his gaze with sullen eyes from volume three.

__

“…I should.”

__

“Hey, no pressure or anything. Just wanna help a bud to help a bud.”

__

“No, I’ll take you up on that. Thank you.”

__

“All g, man. And if you want more advice on shoujo stuff, for this Mukkun thing or whatever, you know who to call. For now, is there anything else I can do for ya?”

__

Actually, it occurs to him that there is. “It’s not relevant, but can I ask something weird?”

__

“Shoot!”

__

“You wear a lot of cologne.”

__

“Uh-huh. Not to brag, but I’m kinda the expert on that around here.”

__

“Do you want any more? I have some bottles back in my old room. Because people kept buying it for me, and it seemed rude to ask them to stop.”

__

“Yeah, I’m g. Not that I don’t appreciate, but I’m kinda picky about what I put on my body, you feel?” Kazunari leans back in his chair, looking at him contemplatively. “Man. You’d be mad cool if you wore cologne, though.”

__

“…I would?”

__

“Well, yeah. Not that you aren’t mad cool already, but it’d take you to the next level, y’know. Make you the complete Tax package. Cause a hot guy is one thing, but a hot guy who smells good? Waaaaay better. Adds that dash of JNSQ. Plus, it shows people you care about how you come across, which is a colosso bonus.”

__

Tasuku doesn’t consider himself lazy about his appearance, or anything, but he also doesn’t really go out of his way to look good unless it’s for a special occasion. Azuma, though, just goes out of his way by default. Azuma, who has a fifty-step skincare routine and does sheet masks every second night and buys expensive shampoo infused with things Tasuku’s never even heard of. But that doesn’t feel like a bonus in and of itself, like a thing that would improve a prospective partner into a viable one; it just feels like Azuma.

__

“Taaax?”

__

Kazunari is peering at him.

__

“It’s nothing.”

__

Tasuku’s legs protest when he stands up. He scoops the two volumes of  _ Heart-Pounding Hundred Metres _ that he hasn’t read into his arms; then, deliberating, he takes the first as well. They’re completely out of order, but that doesn’t really matter when he’s just heading a couple of rooms over.

__

“Thank you again for the help. Especially since you’re busy.”

__

“No, thank  _ you _ for asking! I know you’re like, ultra serious about theatre already, but it makes me super soft to see you doing this for Mukkun. He’ll totes nail it with you on his side.”

__

“I appreciate it. Speaking of which, I saw the cast list for this production. You and Sumeragi and Ikaruga are all playing princes as well.”

__

“Way less princely princes, but yeah. Why, are you gonna offer me princeing lessons too?”

__

“If you want.”

__

“Nah, I got this. I’m playing a way different trope. Plus, Mukkun needs you more than me, and I don’t wanna split your focus.” Kazunari turns back to his work. “Now, hate to be rude, but I kinda have a ton left to do on this assignment. Catch you later, yeah?”

__

“See you. Good luck with your schoolwork.”

__

Tasuku leaves with less fanfare than he arrived, slipping his shoes back on and stepping outside. Rather than heading straight back to his own room, though, he lingers in the walkway. It’s pleasantly warm outside, and late enough in the day that it takes the harshest edge off the sunshine. Suddenly, it feels like he’s been sitting inside for years, even though he can’t have been with Kazunari for more than an hour. He steps over to the railing and pokes his head out, basking in the evening light. In the courtyard below, Sakuya is talking animatedly to Tsumugi, who’s crouched by the flower beds and dressed to garden. On the other side of the lawn, Omi and Tsuzuru are passing a soccer ball back and forth; Tasuku finds himself restless to join them.

__

He rearranges the books in his arms. Properly aligned, the spines of the first three volumes of  _ Heart-Pounding Hundred Metres  _ show part of an illustration, and form the curve of the heroine’s profile; her hair whips out behind her, but is cut off by the edge of volume three. No sign of the future prince.

__

It’s something he’ll have to make his way through later, and he’s not sure he’ll like what he discovers. But for now, he pushes it to the back of his mind, and heads off to change into something better suited to exercise.

__

*

__

The play he goes to see with Azuma that Friday – Tasuku in something smart casual he’d packed to change into, Azuma in an outfit somewhere between stylish and fancy and functional – is, to be honest, not his kind of thing. It’s certainly a well put-together production, and well-directed, and perfectly polished. But it’s a conservative play rather than an ambitious one, which makes all the praise it’s been getting seem both justified and bizarre. And on top of that, the script makes some choices Tasuku finds it hard to agree with. The male lead, in particular, is written to be a little too indecisive, which is only brought out by the interpretive choices made by the actor. In turn, the heroine comes off as a poor match for him; and their happy ending feels more rote than earnest.

__

All in all, it’s the kind of production that Tasuku thinks he might respect more than he likes. But that makes it ideal fodder for discussing with someone, picking through what did and didn’t work for him. And Azuma’s more forgiving about the particulars of staging and lighting than he is, but because of his own experiences, he’s correspondingly more concerned with the ways that actors express the nuances of their characters; so their conversation about it manages to cover a good mix of factors.

__

Their debrief had lasted all the way out of the theatre, down the length of Veludo Way, and to their destination. And now he and Azuma are parked in a rooftop bar by Veludo Library, open to the night air. It’s not too hot, not too cold, and the sky is free of clouds. Since it’s a Friday night, the place is decently full, with the clientele mostly fellow theatre-goers and the occasional group of salarymen. Despite the clamour, Azuma’s managed to snag them a table near the railing, with the noise of the street drifting up from below them. It’s loud enough to allow for a sense of privacy, but not so loud that either of them will have to yell to be heard. Tasuku’s nursing a beer; Azuma stirs his straw through a vibrantly pink cocktail which, despite its appearance, is probably strong enough to knock out a horse. His eyes are calm but gentle, and shadowed in the lamplight.

__

“All right, Tasuku. How’s the beer?”

__

“It’s beer.”

__

“You can give me a little more than that, you know.”

__

“Well, beer is more or less the same everywhere. This place is nice, though.”

__

“Mm, well. I’m glad you like it. If I’d left things to you, we’d have ended up at a sports bar again.”

__

“There’s nothing wrong with sports bars,” Tasuku says, a little defensively. “And I wouldn’t have picked one for something like this, anyway. They’d be too loud on a Friday.”

__

“Of course there isn’t. Though I do agree on that second point. Someplace a little more intimate is better, I think, or at least someplace we can actually talk.”

__

He lets the comment about  _ intimacy _ slide. “And your drink?”

__

“It’s good. Sweet, but not too sweet for this late in the evening, or for this kind of event. Would you like to try some?”

__

“No,” Tasuku says, and ignores the way Azuma’s nose crinkles as he laughs. “Thank you.”

__

“Mm, I didn’t think so.”

__

“Then why did you ask?”

__

“Because I thought you’d be cute about refusing. And because I thought that maybe, this time, you’d say yes.”

__

And, just like that, they aren’t talking about drinks anymore. He works his tongue in his suddenly dry mouth. “If there’s something you want to say, you should just say it.”

__

“Tasuku –” 

__

“I can take it. Whatever it is.”

__

“All right. In that case, there’s something I’ve been wondering about. You said, back when Winter Troupe went drinking together for the very first time, that you’d been in relationships before.”

__

“Two or three. They were good, stable relationships, though they all ended the same way. With breakups that were mostly mutual.”

__

“Relationships,” Azuma says carefully, amber eyes sharp under his lashes, “with women?”

__

“All with women.” And that’s the sticking point, really: that he’s always prided himself on knowing who he is, and what he knows about himself doesn’t line up with what he might be becoming. But because, even if he doesn’t know what he’s doing, he’s terrified of shattering whatever’s growing between them, he forces himself onward. “Although… I’m not sure. I know I’m passionate about acting, but it was hard for me to be passionate about any of them. More than one woman has broken things off with me because she thought I was a cold fish.”

__

“I don’t think you’re a cold fish.”

__

The look in Azuma’s eyes is serious. And it had been part of his job, before, to flirt with people; to tell them what they want to hear, in the ways they want to hear it. But Tasuku isn’t at all sure he wants to hear this.

__

Every girl he’s dated had started out as a stranger. He had met them through either mixers or happenstance, felt some kind of spark, then exchanged numbers and texted a little and made date plans. They’d gone on to do everything in the proper order from then, too: he’d kissed all of them goodbye after the first date, gone on a second maybe a week later, and then a third and fourth and fifth, if they’d still been interested. When the time was right, at some point after that, he’d had sex with them. And it had always been fine. Never anything less than fine, but never anything more either. Then they’d gone official about three or four months in, said  _ I love you, _ met each other’s families a few months later. And every time he’d met a girlfriend’s parents they had, inevitably, liked him, even if they’d been uncertain about the financial stability of dating an actor. 

__

So he knows how to handle relationships, more or less. He’d made it to a year and a couple of months with a barista from Tsumugi’s favourite cafe, who’d slipped him her number on the back of a receipt, and who he’d debated texting for a week before doing anything. A year with the underclassman from his university’s theatre department who’d wanted to join an all-women troupe, before she’d told him it wasn’t working. And he’d made it to about eighteen months with the anthropology major, even though, looking back, they probably should have called it off long before then.

__

But he doesn’t know what to do with this, with a slow slide from friendship into something else, and with someone he can’t risk losing. Because he and Azuma have done everything backwards. Friends long before they’d started to circle around each other, and occasionally sharing a bed long before they’d been friends. They haven’t kissed, neither of them have said anything explicit about attraction or interest or feelings, and they haven’t even been on a real date – except maybe whatever this is, and he can’t bring himself to ask. And he had met Azuma’s parents, or their memory, long before this whatever-it-is had started to unfurl between them; when Azuma had taken him back there, to that house which had long since stopped being a home, and cried into Tasuku’s chest until his shirt had been damp with tears and his heart had memorised every bump of Azuma’s spine under his hands.

__

He changes the subject.

__

“Can I ask you something personal?”

__

“I don’t see why not.”

__

“Were you and your brother much alike?”

__

Judging from his expression, it’s not the question Azuma had been expecting to hear; and, to be honest, not really the question Tasuku had been planning to ask either. But it had slipped out, and there’s no taking it back now.

__

Azuma – doesn’t shatter. He takes a deep breath, and it fills Tasuku with an aching sort of pride in him. “I don’t know. I was a lot younger, back then, and not much like I am now. But I remember him as kind, and smart, and always a little off in his own world. And I’d like to think we were similar, even though we probably wouldn’t be these days.”

__

“So you’d have wanted to be.”

__

“Does anyone really outgrow wanting to be like their big brother?” Azuma rolls his straw between his fingers, biting down on a tiny, sad smile. “It’s hard to tell, too, because I’m much older now than he was. When the accident happened.”

__

“That was a couple of months before he started university, right?”

__

“Mm, he was eighteen. He was born in summer, though, so he’d been that age for a while.”

__

“Sorry. I don’t want to keep dredging anything else up.”

__

“You aren’t dredging.”

__

“If you say so.”

__

“But, can I ask why you’re asking? If there’s something on your mind, I’d like to help with it, you know.”

__

And honesty here is still too much. Tasuku isn’t ready, or maybe just isn’t strong enough, to put into words whatever it is that Fuyuki has always been to him; Fuyuki, with his stable job and pretty wife. Not now. And to be honest, maybe not ever. But he can jump topics, and trust Azuma to follow him, even if the nature of the leap isn’t obvious. He swallows, but it does nothing to dispel the way his stomach feels all snarled up.

__

“I’ve been wondering about something too, lately. Because I don’t know if I’m interested in men. I’ve never had to think about that before.”

__

There’s a definite flicker of surprise in Azuma’s gaze, and he’s a little too slow in trying to fold it away. The tension in Tasuku’s gut winds itself tighter. “Really? Never?”

__

“Never.”

__

“Huh. You know, I had always assumed…” 

__

But Azuma cuts himself off there, presses his lips together. After all this time, he still has a bad habit of trying not to rock the boat, even when what he has to say is important. So Tasuku decides to give him a nudge.

__

“What were you going to say?”

__

“I wasn’t going to say anything.”

__

“That isn’t true. And I want to hear it.”

__

“You’re certain?”

__

“I am.”

__

“Well… all right, then. To be honest, I’m surprised because I’d always kind of assumed – there’d been something between you and Tsumugi. Not officially, or even mutually, but something.”

__

It takes a moment for that to sink in, along with all its implications. Distantly, he realises that his nails are cutting into his palms, and Tasuku forces himself to uncurl his hands. It feels strange and unnatural, an agonising vulnerability. He makes himself take a sip of his beer. “No? I don’t – we never. I mean,  _ I _ never.”

__

“I’m sorry. I’ve upset you, haven’t I.”

__

“…No.”

__

“Tasuku.”

__

“I’m not upset. I just don’t know what to say.”

__

That much is true; he’d need to have processed it first, and most of his conscious brain is engaged in sorting desperately back through the last eighteen months, to work out what about his relationship with Tsumugi had given Azuma that impression. Unfortunately, he only draws blank after blank.

__

“Still. It’s not right of me to push you like that.”

__

A year and a half of being in the same troupe, nine months since they’d visited the old Yukishiro family home together, and several weeks of this narrowing orbit around each other, and Azuma still doesn’t think that allows him to ask a couple of uncomfortable questions. “It’s fine. It would’ve come up sometime anyway.”

__

“If that’s the case, I hope you don’t mind if I pry a little further. Is the issue that I asked, or that I asked about Tsumugi?”

__

That gives him pause. “Both, I think.”

__

“Both?”

__

“Because it feels like you misread our relationship, and we aren’t like that. But also because… this is new to me.” He makes a vague hand gesture that hopefully indicates that he means  _ men, _ or  _ you. _ “All of this.”

__

“Well, it makes sense for me to be your entry point. I still get mistaken for a woman sometimes.”

__

But that isn’t it, either. And it hurts to see Azuma falling back on flippancy, solely for the sake of smoothing over Tasuku’s selfish crisis. He tamps down his anger, because it won’t help, and makes himself speak levelly. “We’ve known each other almost two years. I’m not mistaking you for anything.”

__

“No… no, at this point, you probably aren’t.”

__

“And I don’t want to mistake you, either.”

__

“I know, Tasuku. You’ve always tried to see me for what I am, even when I tried to twist away. I’m glad for that.”

__

And, no matter how briefly, that makes Tasuku want to stop twisting away, too. He sips at his beer, and sets it down a little too sharply. “Then there’s something else I want to ask you. Even though I’ve already overstepped tonight.”

__

“If you really overstepped, I would tell you.”

__

“I don’t know if you would.”

__

“I would. But now you’re avoiding asking, aren’t you.”

__

“Fine. Then… how did you know?” Tasuku folds his hands into each other, watches his fingers flex. He’s both too sober and not nearly sober enough for this. “That you were interested in men.”

__

“Hmm. I think… part of me always did. But that won’t be any use to you, will it.”

__

“Not really.”

__

“Well, you hardly need to figure it all out now. Take as much time as you need, Tasuku.”

__

The words stick in Tasuku’s teeth:  _ but I shouldn’t have to. _ And, certainly, a better man wouldn’t have had to make anyone wait on him. A better man would have known from the start.

__

“Why,” he says.

__

“Why what?”

__

“Why are you waiting for me.”

__

“Mm, well, I thought that was obvious. Because it’s you, of course.”

__

And, on some level, he had already known that. Because the fact they’ve known each other for almost two years cuts both ways. But it’s yet another answer he’s not sure he wanted to hear, to a question he’s not sure he should have asked, or even has the right to.

__

Azuma’s eyes are still on him, gentle, demanding nothing; but Tasuku looks past Azuma, rather than meeting his gaze. He’s foregrounded against the buildings on the other side of Veludo Way and, beyond that, against the summer sky. And Tasuku doesn’t know anything about constellations, but he still knows enough to pick out the hourglass shape of Orion over Azuma’s shoulder.

__

“…Can we talk about something else?”

__

“If you’d like,” Azuma says. “Whatever makes you comfortable.”

__

He doesn’t sound disappointed. And, maybe, someone who doesn’t know him well would assume he isn’t. Instead of pressing the issue, Tasuku drains the last of his beer; and the taste of it sticks to his tongue.

__

“Sorry,” he says. “I’m just tired.”

__

And Azuma doesn’t call him on that. If there’s one thing he can be trusted to do, even after everything, it’s to maintain equilibrium. Instead, he draws Tasuku back into their earlier conversation about tonight’s production. And even if he isn’t disappointed, even if he isn’t bothered by this constant stalemate because of Tasuku’s struggle with his own feelings, Tasuku can’t shake the feeling that  _ he _ is.

__

*

__

Tasuku’s finishing off the second volume of  _ Heart-Pounding Hundred Metres _ a couple of days later, tucked into the corner of his sofa, when Tsumugi lets himself into their room. He’s been off at rehearsals for an upcoming guest role all day; Tasuku knows this because he knows Tsumugi, because they live together, because their lives overlap by default. Because they’ve always paid so much attention to each other, and things have always been that way between them.

__

Then again, he’s never known anyone who’s experienced the kind of friendship he has with Tsumugi, so inseparable for so long. And Azuma had seemed very, very confident in assuming their friendship had bled into romance at the edges.

__

“I’m home,” Tsumugi says, but falters a little at his expression. “Tasuku? Is something wrong?”

__

If his choices here are to lie badly, or to admit what’s on his mind – that he’s still trying to sift back through two decades of their friendship to see if any of it could be misconstrued as romantic – then Tasuku knows which one he has to pick. He smooths the frown off his face. “I’m fine. Welcome back.”

__

Tsumugi troops over to his side of the room, shedding his coat as he goes, and Tasuku gets back to his reading. Shoujo manga is never going to be his genre of choice, but this one is at least snappily paced; so he can understand  _ some  _ of what Muku likes about it. And personal preference aside, he’s only got one chapter left of this volume, and he may as well finish it off now. The manga’s heroine and love interest, after their initial encounters, have now been paired together to complete a project for literature class. But they keep quarrelling, and it seems like they’ll never make any progress. Not only is the sprinter hero a truant, who skips school more often than not, but his attitude towards love makes it difficult for them to agree on how to approach the famous romance they’ve been assigned. And to make matters worse, the story has just introduced the third point of a future love triangle: their class president, who’s the estranged childhood friend of the hero, but hasn’t yet recognised him as her former playmate. And there’s still no sign of the hero becoming any kind of prince, at least any time soon.

__

“Are you reading shoujo manga?”

__

Tasuku, startled by his roommate’s interruption, almost drops the book. “It’s for research,” he says automatically, and clarifies when Tsumugi coughs in the way that means he’s trying not to laugh. “Sakisaka asked me to help with his next role, so I thought I’d skim some manga to try understand the kind of prince he wants to play.”

__

“Oh, that’s true, Summer Troupe’s working on a production about princes. But Tasuku, are you sure you’re okay with that?”

__

First Azuma, and now Tsumugi. He understands that they’re only asking because they care, because they have some idea of how complicated his history as the former prince of God Troupe is, but he’s twenty-five years old. He’s capable of managing his emotions, even when they’re a mess.

__

“I want to help him.”

__

Tsumugi hums, but even though he takes a seat at the other end of the couch, seems to decide not to push it. And, shamefully, that’s a relief. But then something else occurs to Tasuku, something he can’t let lie. He sets his volume of  _ Heart-Pounding Hundred Metres _ onto the table, open face-down, so he can keep his place. The front cover illustration shows the heroine at the front of their classroom, while the hero gazes out the window from his desk up the back.

__

“Hey, Tsumugi. Do you remember the girl who confessed to me in tenth grade?”

__

Tsumugi thinks for a moment, lacing his hands together in his lap. “I do. Suzuki, from the class next door. She always tied up her hair with orange ribbons.”

__

“That was her. Suzuki.”

__

“It’s a little nostalgic, to hear you talking about high school for once. But is there a reason you’re asking?”

__

“Not really.”

__

Tasuku drops his gaze to Muku’s manga again. The back cover has an illustration of the hero’s former childhood friend, striking an authoritative pose as she adjusts her glasses. But her eyes are melancholy behind them, and a bright, bright blue. He clears his throat.

__

“Sorry to change the subject suddenly. But… can I ask a question you’re going to hate? You don’t have to answer, not if you don’t want to.”

__

“Well, I can at least hear you out. What is it?”

__

“We’ve been friends for a long time.”

__

“We have.”

__

“Did you ever. Want to be more than friends with me.” That sounds dangerously easy to misinterpret, so Tasuku backtracks as fast as he can. “I mean – that isn’t a proposition. I’m just wondering. And no matter what you say, it won’t change anything between us.”

__

Tsumugi goes quiet as he thinks, but not for long. He breaks the tension with a laugh, leaning back against the sofa; but it’s a sentimental thing, and a fond one, not cruel. “For a while, but that was a decade ago. Really, Tasuku, I had the most  _ awful  _ crush on you in ninth grade. Did you not notice?”

__

”Why would I have? I wasn’t looking for it.”

__

“It wasn’t exactly something you had to look for. Fuyuki knew about it, for sure. And I thought… well, he isn’t always subtle. Maybe he’d said something.”

__

The idea of his brother trying to matchmake him and his oldest friend is – mortifying, actually. But that reply doesn’t soothe Tasuku, it doesn’t feel like a satisfying refutation of Azuma’s theory, and it asks far more questions than it answers.

__

“When we first talked about the Suzuki thing, the day after it happened. And you told me a girl had confessed to you the year before. Did that crush overlap with her confession?”

__

“No,” Tsumugi says softly. His eyes are fixed on his hands. “It didn’t.”

__

That answer leaves a deep silence behind. Tasuku’s breaths strike so loudly against it that they feel like a confession, or else a betrayal. There’s lead in the pit of his stomach and a thorn in his lungs. And asking these questions hasn’t gotten him any closer to understanding anything, or begun to loosen the tension that weighs down his whole body. And it doesn’t help that Tsumugi’s expression has changed from something contemplative to something determined.

__

“But since we’re here, Tasuku: can I ask you the same question? Though you don’t have to answer, either.”

__

“You mean… if I’ve ever been in love with _ you?_”

__

“Love might be a strong word. But yes.”

__

He really, truly, makes himself think about it. Fumbles his way along the fault lines of everything he’s ever felt for Tsumugi, and especially the fractures of the times they’d fought, when their feelings hadn’t been the same. When he’d wanted too much, or else too little. But they’ve been together for a long time, and he can’t remember everything about every one of those years, even if he wanted to. And in the end, what he comes up with is – 

__

“You can ask, but I wouldn’t know how to answer.”

__

Tsumugi relaxes, a little, but there’s still a tightness to his face. His lips purse in thought. “That’s okay. I was just wondering, too.”

__

“Sorry.”

__

“Why are you apologising?”

__

“That sounds like I think you aren’t worth being in love with.”

__

“Love isn’t really about worth, Tasuku.”

__

“No, I know. I…” He tries to claw his way back to normalcy. “Like I said, nothing about this conversation changes anything. You’re my best friend, and that’s always going to be true. And I’m not in love with you  _ now_. If that matters.”

__

“I know,” Tsumugi says. “I’m not in love with you now, either. Thank you for being honest, though.”

__

He stands and goes back to whatever he was doing. And Tasuku, overexposed, decides he should seize the chance to retreat. But still, part of him wants to linger; even though he knows that if he stays, he’ll just start apologising to Tsumugi again, and make less and less sense each time. But the feeling of failure is a hard one to shake, even though it’s familiar. Before he gets to his feet, he closes his volume of  _ Heart-Pounding Hundred Metres_, setting it aside for a time when he can actually finish it.

__

“I’m going for a walk,” he says.

__

“See you.”

__

Tasuku rises and paces over to the door. But something’s still bothering him, like he hasn’t really tied this conversation off properly, and that makes him hesitate. Cast a look back at Tsumugi, who’s still watching him. Shift uncomfortably..

__

“We’re all right, aren’t we?”

__

“We’re all right.”

__

“You’d tell me if we weren’t?”

__

“I would.” Tsumugi gives him a look. “Would you?”

__

“I would.”

__

“Okay. And… I should have said this when you did, but you’re my best friend, too.”

__

“Yeah. Thanks, Tsumu.”

__

“Mm. Have fun on your walk.”

__

Tsumugi turns away, seemingly satisfied with that. So Tasuku puts on his sneakers, checks to make sure he’s got his wallet and keys, and heads out.

__

It’s already late afternoon, bordering on early evening. And he’s immediately, shamefully, relieved to be outside. Nobody’s in the courtyard, and the dormitory itself is strangely quiet; the high schoolers are busy with homework, the college students are still on campus, and everyone else must be working, out on their own business, or else tucked away in their rooms.

__

But there’s a heavy feeling in him, a sickness sinking into his bones. It nests in deeper as he takes the stairs down, two at a time, shoes pounding against the hard surface. And it’s not that he  _ envies _ Tsumugi, exactly. But, stupidly, it does feel unfair. That Tsumugi had known, at fifteen, where he stood on these things, and that Tasuku’s left trailing after him again.

__

He pauses outside the lounge door to collect himself. There’s the muffled sound of conversation coming from behind it, but having to deal with others is the least of his problems. Anyone who knows him well will be able to tell that something’s off, but Tsumugi’s back in their room, Azuma is… somewhere, and the rest of Winter Troupe have work engagements. Which means that whoever’s in the lounge won’t think anything of his presence, and then he’ll be out the front door and on his way.

__

It’s fine. He breathes. Then he turns the door-handle and steps inside.

__

Even though the rest of the dorm is so quiet, things in the main room are as lively as ever. Taichi and Tenma are at the dining table, still in their O High uniforms, textbooks spread in front of them as they debate some assignment. And Izumi’s in the kitchen, taking stock of the pantry. She glances up when he walks in; then, processing who she’s looking at, she perks up and waves him over.

__

“Tasuku! Just who I wanted to see. Can I ask a favour?”

__

“Of course. What do you need?”

__

“Would you mind going shopping? I’d do it myself, but I have something on, and I need to go soon. I’ll be back in time to cook, but I won’t have ingredients unless someone else gets them.”

__

She looks up at him with pleading eyes. But Tasuku’s not thinking about a supermarket trip, not now. Not when Izumi might be able to read his unease – and who says she hasn’t already, and this grocery run is her throwing a lifeline? – and not when he hasn’t really spoken to her since talking to Azuma about his exes. That isn’t unusual, on its own. They’re both adults, with entire lives outside the dorm, and Winter Troupe being between commitments has kept them further away from each other. But even though their paths have barely crossed, Izumi has still been on his mind.

__

He’d always assumed there was something there, between them. How could he not have, considering the circumstances, and how much sense it made for him to be interested? Izumi is around his age, shares the same hobby-turned-career. She has a nice face, she’s an increasingly important friend, and there’s a light in her eyes, when she gets worked up enough talking about curry or theatre, that makes him feel glad to know her.

__

And a few months after he had joined Mankai Company, they’d gone to see a play together, and there had been a strange, loaded moment on their walk home. They’d talked about the production down the whole length of Veludo Way, and they’d still been in the middle of critiquing its staging when they had reached the dorm. And they’d wound up lingering outside the front door, even though they’d both suddenly run out of things to say, and even though neither of them had been looking for their keys. It had been late enough that the dormitory had been quiet, and it had just been him and her and the yellow glow of the outside light. And Izumi had kind of – looked up at him, almost like she’d been expecting something. He’d been familiar with most of her expressions, by then, but not this one. Something open, almost vulnerable. Like she was asking for something without words. Like she thought he’d be able to answer.

__

But then Izumi had said something about needing to find some paperwork for Matsukawa, and glanced away, and the moment had shattered.

__

A year on, and Tasuku still thinks about that night. Because maybe it really hadn’t been anything. Maybe they’d accidentally moved into each other’s space, or he’d been misreading the intention in her gaze. Maybe he’d just been tired. Maybe he had been convincing himself he wanted things to be that way, because he had thought that was what  _ she  _ had wanted. Maybe a different man, a man who wasn’t Tasuku, would have been looking at her mouth and not her eyes.

__

Or maybe it  _ had  _ been something.

__

But, in this moment, in the dorm’s kitchen, with Taichi and Tenma arguing about their math homework in the background, there’s no trace of that at all in Izumi. Although Tasuku must be staring at her, because she fidgets under his gaze. “Uh, Tasuku? Is something wrong?”

__

“It’s nothing,” he says, knows it comes out too quickly. “I’ll go.”

__

“Great! Thanks for the help. You should probably take someone else with you, though. Today’s list ended up longer than I expected.”

__

It’s true: the sticky note she hands him is covered with writing on both sides, and a lot of the items she’s asked for are heavy or bulky. The truly terrifying amount of curry supplies she’s asked for, alone, probably requires a second shopper. “All right. I’ll find someone.”

__

“I’ll leave it to you, then. I have to rush.” She adjusts her bag on her shoulder and dashes out of the kitchen, narrowly avoiding a full-body impact with one of the dining chairs. “Bye, guys!”

__

She scurries out of the lounge room, and her light footsteps recede down the hall. And Tasuku’s left alone with his shopping list, his thoughts, and the feeling that he’s just stumbled headfirst into some larger revelation. But that can wait, and groceries can’t. He steps out of the kitchen and into the main room.

__

“Hey, Tasuku. I’ll come with.” That’s Taichi, standing up from his place at the table. “Not to sound like I was eavesdropping, or anything. But I can’t stand thinking about school anymore, so I may as well.”

__

Tenma covers the betrayal which flashes across his face with irritation. “Oi, Taichi. We aren’t done with this yet.”

__

“Yeah, but it’s not like we’re getting anywhere.”

__

Tasuku, as the adult in this situation, decides to bail them out. “Tsumugi should be in our room, if you’d like the help.”

__

“I might DM him, but I think I mostly need to get out of here. If you don’t mind having me.”

__

“Not at all. Thanks, Nanao.”

__

Taichi looks to his companion. “Are you in too, Ten-chan?”

__

“I’m out,” Tenma says, bouncing his pen between his fingers. “I’m shooting a drama next week, so I have to try get ahead on schoolwork. And you don’t need three people for one shopping trip, anyway.”

__

“The director hasn’t asked for  _ that _ much,” Tasuku says, although it comes out less convincing than it probably should. “Two of us will be fine.”

__

“Yeah, no prob.” Taichi gets to his feet. “Just gimme five to get ready, Tasuku. I’ll be quick.”

__

Taichi scoops up his books and hurries out of the room. And Tenma, deciding to either give up or relocate now that he’s been abandoned, follows suit.

__

While he waits, Tasuku keeps himself busy by reading over the shopping list again. Their dorm is about the same distance from two different supermarkets; one tends to have better deals on fresh produce, while the other is better for things like rice, seasonings, and dry goods. Today Izumi has mostly asked for meat and vegetables, and so Tasuku settles on the former.

__

It isn’t long before Taichi reappears, dressed in casual clothes, and full of his usual restless energy. He leans heavily on the counter, and gestures for Izumi’s sticky note. Tasuku passes it over and watches as he reads. 

__

“Do you mind if we walk?” Tasuku asks. “Sorry. I know carrying everything back might be a nuisance, but I want to get moving.”

__

“Yeah, fine by me.”

__

Taichi passes the list back, and then they grab their reusable bags and move out. Their walk to the store is pleasantly uneventful, despite it being evening, and the crowds of people going home are mostly heading in the opposite direction. Most importantly, Taichi seems to be doing much better than the last time they spoke. While he usually seems to bounce back from things fairly fast, with all the resilience of youth, it’s still a relief to see that in practice. He keeps up a steady stream of conversation as they make their way to the supermarket, topics ranging from the misadventures of Autumn Troupe to his costume work with Yuki to the assignments he and Tenma have been struggling through. And while it all seems like business as usual on the surface, Taichi as Taichi as ever, Tasuku can’t forget how broken-hearted he had looked when he’d come asking for help.

__

Still, though, he’s not sure how to bring that up; if it’s even worth trying to continue their conversation from the other day unless Taichi initiates it. And Tasuku has plenty of time to mull over the question as they do their shopping, and as they move through the checkout, and as they pay, and as they load up with bags again, until they’re outside the store, and Taichi looks earnestly up at him.

__

“Hey, Tasuku. Do you mind if we take the long way back? Cause carrying all these bags home definitely counts as arm day.”

__

That makes Tasuku feel a little ashamed of himself, actually; foolish for being consumed by Taichi’s problems when the boy himself seems so unaffected. He centres himself, and tries to make normal conversation. “It does. But you should try distribute items between the bags as evenly as possible.”

__

“Yessir!”

__

They pause outside the supermarket to shuffle their bags around; Taichi swaps his between his arms, trades a bag full of fresh produce for one of Tasuku’s, full of heavy bottles. The usual evening crowds pass lazily by, anonymising them in the mass of people.

__

Once Taichi’s ready, they start to head home. Rather than a straight shot back down Veludo Way, though, the longer route has them veer off towards the river, a quieter and more meandering alternative. In silent agreement, they make their way down to the footpath that leads along the bank, Tasuku shortening his stride so his companion can keep up. In the reflected light of the sunset, the dark water is polished to a bright orange-gold. When Taichi turns to continue their conversation, to pick up from whatever topic he’d left off on, he too is something golden.

__

But it’s Tasuku who speaks first. Because even if Taichi’s been making small talk, that doesn’t mean there’s nothing weighing him down. And because he thinks he knows what Muku wants to become, but even though Taichi had asked to sit in on his coaching, he probably wants to become something very different. Which means Tasuku has to ask, even though he’s sick with the knowledge of what he’ll find.

__

“Nanao. You must have an ideal prince too.”

__

“Huh?”

__

“I still don’t mind you sitting in when I coach Sakisaka, but the kind of prince you want to be and the kind of prince he does aren’t the same.”

__

“Oh. Yeah, he lent me some manga after we talked, and the heroes were cool, but they weren’t right. So I guess my ideal prince is more like… someone like you.”

__

Tasuku’s tongue feels like dust in his mouth. “Name someone else.”

__

“Uh, okay. Then maybe someone like Omi? He’s kind and good at things like cooking and sewing, but still super masculine, so he’s really got it all. But Sakyo is cool and smart, so maybe someone more like him. But then, Ban-chan and Ten-chan are both cool in their own ways, too, and so is Juza… Or maybe someone like Kazu, who’s my senior in the ways of being popular. Or Mucchan, who always goes for things head-on, like this Summer Troupe play. And even though their manly charms might not be obvious to people, I have tons of respect for Yuki and Azuma too. So… tough call.”

__

Tasuku has to turn that one over for a moment, push down the weird taste it leaves behind. “You think Azuma is princely?”

__

“Well, yeah. He might not be super manly or anything, but he’s elegant and kind and confident.” But he must be making a strange expression, because Taichi looks at him and winces a little. “Did I say something wrong? You two seem pretty close, so I figured –” 

__

“No, you didn’t. I was just surprised.”

__

“You kinda sounded bad surprised, though.”

__

“I’m not bad surprised. But that isn’t important. Listen, Nanao, can I be blunt?”

__

“Yeah. Whatever it is you wanna say, I can take it.”

__

“You aren’t consistent about the kind of man you want to be. Not just because you named half the troupe when I asked, but because…” He flounders a little, the words eluding him, as they always do when it matters most. “Because you talk one way and act in another. And because, if you were going to be anything like most of the people you named, you’d have to stop being yourself.”

__

“…That’s probably true. I guess, if I had to sum it up, my ideal prince is – anyone but me.”

__

The way Taichi says that is a little self-deprecating, a lot matter of fact. The river behind him, molten gold, makes looking at his profile blinding. And if Tasuku wants to help, he has to be honest about this. Confess to the truth of his mirage, even if it hurts Taichi, and even though the attempt will definitely hurt him too.

__

“I feel the same.”

__

“Huh?”

__

“Even though I’ve come so far, and with Winter Troupe helping me, I still feel like… like someone else would have lived my life better.”

__

Taichi goes very, very quiet. When he speaks, there’s something in his tone Tasuku can’t place. “Even you have regrets, huh.”

__

“Everyone does. But I’m not talking about regrets. I’m still talking about ideals.” Taichi’s mouth twists like he wants to argue, but Tasuku makes himself keep going. “And we’re losing the point. Nanao, I’m not – I’m not what you think I am, either.”

__

“What do you think I think you are?”

__

“Who I was in God Troupe. Or else… some infallible prince.”

__

Taichi frowns to himself as he thinks. But when he looks up, his eyes are stubborn. “That’s all wrong, Tasuku. Obviously I admire you a ton as an actor, but it’s not just that, y’know? Yeah, you’re cool and manly, but you’re also kind, even if you don’t always show it. Like how you agreed to help me and Mucchan with our problems, and how you fixed my skateboard when it broke last month. It’s about way more than just God Troupe. And has been for a while.”

__

An echo of his own words to Azuma, earlier in the week;  _ I’m not mistaking you for anything. _ And, even though Taichi’s logic makes a kind of sense, it’s also not right. He’s used to people liking him for himself, but usually they’re not looking up to him at the same time.

__

“That doesn’t make sense,” he says, ashamed of how helpless it sounds. “That doesn’t make any sense at all.”

__

“I don’t really think it has to. Maybe I didn’t know anything about you, back then. I can admit that. But I know you now, and I still think the world of you. And maybe that means I think you’re more than you are. But… why do you think you’re so much  _ less_?”

__

“It’s hard to explain.”

__

“Try me.”

__

“Not that kind of hard to explain. Hard to put into words, not hard to understand. But I think it comes back to ideals again.”

__

Their route home finally turns away from the riverbank, a lazy bend to the left, where the footpath connects back up with their end of Veludo Way. With their backs to the sunset, their shadows stretch long before them. Taichi resettles his grocery bags.

__

“Can I tell you what I think?”

__

“Go ahead.”

__

“I think ideals are ideals cause they’re so far away from us. Because they’re tiny dots on the horizon, off in the distance. But, you know, I think that’s probably fine, so long as you’re heading towards them. I mean, obviously I can’t be the kind of man I want to be right away. But I’m getting there.”

__

Taichi always makes things sound so easy. Maybe it’s because of who he is, or maybe it’s just because he has the luxury of being seventeen, and living in a world which can still run on simple logic. Tasuku refuses to let himself envy that, the same way he hadn’t let himself envy Tsumugi.

__

“I’m glad,” he says. “You don’t need me to tell you this, but you’re different from how you were in God Troupe. Although I hardly knew you back then, either.”

__

“Yeah. I can tell I’m getting closer to my goals, you know. Cause I’m doing better, and feeling better, and I’m going to make sure that stays true. But I’m still happy to hear you noticed.”

__

They walk in silence for a little while. The Mankai dorm is still a tiny dot further down the road, but it’s in view now, for whatever that’s worth. Because the strange restlessness in Tasuku hasn’t abated, not at all. And he’s not ready to go home yet, to face whoever he might meet there, when they’ll still be able to read it off him. To his left, Taichi clears his throat.

__

“I think you’re different too, though, y’know. For what it’s worth.”

__

“I’m not sure that’s right. It’s true that I might have changed, but I still haven’t changed enough.” Tasuku makes himself keep looking ahead down Veludo Way. “To use your metaphor, I think I’m at least not moving away from my ideals. But I also think… I’ve spent years running in one direction, and I’ve just found out I should have been running in another. I just don’t know which.”

__

“Uh. If you wanna keep using the metaphor, you might have to explain it more, Tasuku.”

__

“Sorry. It’s nothing.”

__

“I mean, it doesn’t sound like nothing.”

__

“Either way. I don’t want to talk about it any more.”

__

Taichi frowns. “I mean, if you want. But it kinda sounded like you were about to be onto something.”

__

And it’s exactly  _ because _ he might be onto something that he has to step away from this. Because Tasuku’s mind is chasing itself in circles about Taichi, Muku, Tsumugi. Izumi; Azuma. About himself, and the man that Taichi seems to think he is. About the prospect of learning what any of this means. Because he has a sinking feeling about what conclusion he might reach, if he lets himself follow any of those trains of thought to their natural endings. And it wakes a terrifying, bone-deep fear in him.

__

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

__

“If you’re sure,” says Taichi. He turns his head back, maybe to look at the river behind him, or maybe just for an excuse to look away. But he’s not fast enough to hide the disappointment on his face, for the instant it was seared onto his profile; and it’s all the worse because it’s the only disappointment Tasuku can remember ever bringing out in him.

__

*

__

“I had that dream again.”

__

It’s two in the morning, and Azuma is at his door; disheveled from sleep and terrified from waking. In the colours of the night and with his hair loose, he looks like some cold thing fished up from the depths of the ocean, three days dead. Tasuku makes himself swallow, makes himself breathe. Steps aside and gestures him in.

__

“Thank you for having me,” Azuma says quietly, as Tasuku closes the door behind him. Across the room, Tsumugi’s breathing is soft and even, undisturbed by their visitor. “Is it – is this okay?”

__

“Yeah.”

__

“Well then, I appreciate it.”

__

Tasuku grunts, fumbles for his phone so they can see what they’re doing. “It’s nothing.”

__

The beam of his screen cuts between them like headlights on a dark highway. In that washed-out white, Azuma’s face is more shadow than form, his irises the barest suggestion of colour. Under the curve of Tasuku’s fingers, his phone’s wallpaper is still set to the default.

__

“You know,” Azuma whispers, “exposure to blue light before bed isn’t good for you. It disrupts your body’s sleep cycle. You should try download an app which filters it, if your phone doesn’t already have one.”

__

“It’s fine. I wasn’t planning to use it for long.”

__

Led by the glare from his phone, Tasuku shepherds his visitor through the room. He thinks, for a second, about resting a hand on Azuma’s arm to help guide him. Just lightly, the slightest brush of fingers against the outside of his elbow; a far less significant action than sharing a bed, but a far more significant intimacy. But even here, even now, it still feels like presuming too much. Like Azuma might be hurt by it somehow, even if he wouldn’t show it. And by the time Tasuku has more or less resolved not to, they’re already to his bed, and it doesn’t matter anyway.

__

Tasuku gestures at the ladder. “You first.”

__

But Azuma hesitates. “I appreciate the chivalry, but shouldn’t you…?”

__

He’s right. Tasuku sleeps on the side closer to the wall, but not because of any preference about beds in general. But because Tsumugi, when they’d been sharing a bunk on a middle-school trip, had told him very earnestly that he needed to be careful not to fall off in the middle of the night; and ever since then, he prefers to take the bottom bunk, when possible, or sleep right against the wall of the top bunk if he can’t.

__

The catch is that he doesn’t actually remember mentioning this to Azuma. But he must have; and he’s sure he’d confided it in a whisper, on a night just like tonight, and he’s equally sure that Azuma hadn’t laughed.

__

“My bad,” he mutters, and climbs.

__

Azuma waits until he’s settled before following him up. Tasuku turns his phone off, and returns it to the shelf next to his bed. The darkness, as it fills back in, seems hungrier for its absence.

__

Uncharacteristically, Azuma doesn’t immediately close the distance between their bodies. But he does roll onto his side, head resting on his arms, and Tasuku can feel the weight of his eyes even in the dark.

__

“I’m sorry to have come by so late. Were you sleeping?”

__

“Not really,” Tasuku says. “Or not well. But I don’t mind.”

__

“Well, it’s a good thing you have a former sleeping partner around. I’ll chase that restlessness away.”

__

“It’s not my own restlessness I’m worried about.”

__

Azuma makes a sound which might be thoughtful or might be affirmative. “You’re right, of course. I shouldn’t be deflecting.”

__

“Exactly. …Then, come here.”

__

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Tasuku. Just your company is enough for me.”

__

“You had a nightmare. The least I can do is hold you.” Tasuku swallows. “And… I do want to.”

__

His face flares with warmth, but Azuma thankfully doesn’t say anything about it; he just slides in closer. Pillows his head where Tasuku’s shoulder meets his chest, tangles their legs together. Gives a contented little sigh. Tasuku hesitates, then wraps an arm around Azuma’s slim waist, resting it in the slight curve of his body. And just like that, the world around them drops away.

__

The first time they’d shared a bed, when Azuma had finally worn him down after weeks of gentle prodding, Tasuku had been paralysed by how much he had needed to relearn. It had been a while since his last relationship, and he’d completely forgotten the logistics of everything. Of how to share a bed without being hyper-aware of his own physicality; of getting used to someone else’s presence so close by; of the fact that if he moved even slightly, he would bring their bodies into unwanted contact. And even back then, even though Winter Troupe hadn’t yet come to occupy the place in him it holds now, Azuma had been someone whose opinion had mattered.

__

It hadn’t helped that they’d been packed in like sardines, in a bed not designed for two. Azuma lying on his side; Tasuku on his back at first, before turning to face him, and making himself move closer. He had asked if Azuma had been comfortable, hesitant from too many of Hisoka’s complaints about him being a terrible pillow. And from knowing that his body, for all the pride he took in his fitness, probably wasn’t anything like what Azuma had been used to. And from the tension pulling his muscles taut like piano wire, wound up by a fear he hadn’t been able to put into words yet. But Azuma had just said  _ it’s perfect, _ in a strange and quiet voice, and that had been that.

__

And Azuma had asked to sleep in his bed again the next week, and the next. And it had gotten less and less unfamiliar every time, even if it had never really gotten easier. And here they are now: with Tasuku’s heart under Azuma’s hand, and his lungs empty.

__

“This is nice,” Azuma says.

__

And Tasuku – wants. 

__

During the day, he’s paralysed. Immobilised by something he’s not quite sure of, even though he can feel the weight of it, heavy in his throat. But it would be easy in the dark. In this tiny world, bordered by their unspoken agreement: to never talk about what passes between them here, to face the morning as if the night had never happened. And maybe this wanting, too, could be something they wouldn’t have to talk about. Not having to see or be seen; just Azuma, under his hands and his mouth.

__

Before he can think better of it, on some blind instinct, he turns his head towards Azuma’s. It’s difficult to tell where he’s looking, but their faces are very close together. Close enough that Azuma’s hair rustles against Tasuku’s neck, that their breath catches on each other’s lips. He could ask Azuma if this is okay, if even so little is enough. Or he could just lean in.

__

What he actually does is swallow down the wanting. Even here, even now, it feels wrong to let himself express it; and Azuma deserves more than the night and its silence. “Your dream. Do you want to talk about it?”

__

“Mm… there isn’t really much to say, though.”

__

“There doesn’t have to be. But talking about bad dreams makes them seem less real.”

__

“You don’t strike me as somebody who has a lot of nightmares, Tasuku.”

__

“Not as much these days. But I had a lot in my last year of grade school, and just after I joined God Troupe.” He exhales. “Just after I left it, too.”

__

“Knowing how obsessed you are with acting, your nightmares are probably about forgetting all your lines, aren’t they?”

__

“No,” Tasuku says defensively, and then, “Only some of them.”

__

Azuma’s laughter is warm against his chest. “Sorry. I just can’t help teasing you, you know.”

__

“…It’s fine if it helps you feel better.”

__

“That’s very accommodating. But you’re right, though. Even if there isn’t much to be said about tonight’s dream, I should still talk about it, since you’ve offered to listen.”

__

“Take your time.”

__

Azuma breathes. And Tasuku breathes with him, and smooths a thumb over his side, and feels the tension slowly leech from him. When Azuma speaks, his tone is surprisingly level.

__

“My nightmares about the accident all used to be the same. I used to dream about begging my family not to go on that trip, calling out to them over and over again, but then they’d disappear, and leave me behind in that empty house. I’ve… told you about those before. But the dreams have changed recently. And now I go on that trip with them, and I’m in that car. With my father driving, my mother giving him directions, my brother laughing at something I said. And then we take a corner wrong, and there’s an impact. Then I’m falling, without any kind of warning, and then – I’m sinking.” His whole body trembles. “Today, at least, I woke up quickly.”

__

Tasuku’s arm feels like a dead weight where it rests against Azuma. “I’m sorry.”

__

“I appreciate it, Tasuku. But it is what it is, I suppose.”

__

“Still. There have to be ways of preventing your nightmares.”

__

“I’ve tried some things over the years. To be honest, most of them didn’t work, and I hated the ones that did.”

__

“You can’t have tried everything, though. I find exercising before bed –” Azuma stifles a laugh, badly, and Tasuku frowns. “No, really. If I’m worn-out enough before I sleep, I don’t dream.”

__

“That’s a very you suggestion. Although I’m not really sure if it’s my style.”

__

“I don’t mind coming with, if that’s the issue.”

__

“It isn’t about the company. You’re sweet, though.”

__

_ Sweet. _ Tasuku has to clear his throat, quietly, because of the way that lodges in it. “I meant it. If you ever think of anything I can do, tell me.”

__

“Well, the best thing for it is company. Not having to sleep, or wake, alone. So… thank you again for letting me in.”

__

“Any time. And thank you for choosing me to help you.”

__

Azuma’s smile is warm against him. “Any time.”

__

“Anyway. Have you calmed down enough to sleep?”

__

“Mm, I think so. Goodnight, Tasuku.”

__

“Goodnight.”

__

“And… sweet dreams.”

__

*

__

Tasuku sleeps, dragged under by sudden exhaustion. And when he sleeps, he dreams.

__

When he manages to surface a little, he finds himself on a beach; but it’s like no beach he can remember ever going to. If anything, it feels like an amalgamation of every time he’s seen the ocean. White sand and a shining green sea, extending as far as he looks, in either direction. No sun in the sky, even though the beach is as bright as midday. And it’s perfectly still. No breeze, no waves, no gulls, not even the sound of breathing. Just Tasuku on the shore – and Azuma, standing thigh-deep in the ocean.

__

In Tasuku’s waking life, he’s beautiful. And here, unbound by reality, he’s something entirely different, dangerous and heart-stopping. Like a figure from a painting, or a character on the other side of a television screen late at night. It’s a portrait sketched out by stolen glances, by the awareness of another actor’s presence on the same stage, by the memory of Azuma’s body against his own. By a longing Tasuku is still only beginning to make sense of.

__

Sensing his hesitation, Azuma holds out a beckoning hand. He’s not even slightly dressed for swimming, wearing a full suit. Slacks, a vest under a pale blue blazer, a stiff-collared shirt with the first two buttons undone. He’s probably even in brogues. And his hair is loose around his shoulders for once, like a distant cloud in a summer sky. When Tasuku looks down at himself, curious about his own outfit, it only seems natural to find that he’s in a suit too. It’s dark grey, complemented by a navy tie; and a flower, of a kind he doesn’t think he’s ever seen before, blooms from his buttonhole. The same rich amber as Azuma’s eyes.

__

Neither of them speaks, not for a long while. Azuma is a pale statue against the sea and the sky. That means it’s probably Tasuku’s cue, but when he thinks about it, he can’t be entirely sure. So he decides to ease into things, as steadily as he can.

__

“Sorry. I’ve kept you waiting for a long time.”

__

“I’ve waited for longer before,” Azuma says, voice clear as a bell. “And for less.”

__

“Is this a dream?”

__

“For now.”

__

“And if I admit that, will I wake up?”

__

“That depends whether you want to.”

__

“I don’t know. At least, I don’t think this is a nightmare.”

__

The curve of Azuma’s smile is unfairly true to life. “I should hope not.”

__

“Still,” he says, “I don’t remember any of my lines.” And even though it’s one of those nonsense bits of dream dialogue, dredged up from his subconscious, it comes out as a plea.

__

“That’s okay. You can improvise, can’t you?”

__

Maybe if he was acting; if he was playing someone else, anyone but Takato Tasuku, worn down to his bones. “What’s the theme?”

__

“Mmm. Well, how about this? You can be Tasuku, and I’ll be a mermaid, washed up on the shore after a terrible storm.”

__

“Those don’t sound like two roles from the same play. I’m a real person, and a mermaid belongs in a tale about a prince.”

__

“And if I played a merman instead?”

__

“That’s still a story for princes.”

__

“Then I think I’ll play Azuma, if you’ll agree to play Tasuku. Just as long as we can be in the same story.”

__

So Tasuku wades into the ocean to meet him. The sea laps at his legs, but it doesn’t feel like anything; and it’s as still and placid as a lake. And when he next becomes aware of himself, he’s already standing next to Azuma, and his suit is perfectly dry. In the absence of a sun, he casts no shadow over the water.

__

Azuma says, “That wasn’t so hard, now, was it.”

__

“I don’t remember any of my lines,” he says again, more desperately this time. “I know we’ve settled on our roles, but I don’t – I don’t even think I was given a script.”

__

“But you’ve already agreed to play yourself, Tasuku. You shouldn’t need a script for that.”

__

“But I’m someone who doesn’t get these things right. And wouldn’t you prefer a prince?”

__

“I’d prefer you kiss me.”

__

Belatedly, he notices that there’s a flower in the buttonhole of Azuma’s jacket too. Another kind that doesn’t exist in the world outside this beach, with wickedly spiked, but curved petals; and it’s a dark, dark purple.

__

“I can’t take advantage of you like that. Not when none of this is real.”

__

“Well, something doesn’t have to be real to be true. And it’s true that you want me.”

__

He chews that over. Because he cares about Azuma too much, even this dream-Azuma who speaks in riddles and wades into the ocean dressed for a wedding and wears flowers the colour of Tasuku’s eyes, to deny that outright. But this isn’t as easy as wanting or not wanting, as being able to have something or going without. It never can be, not for Tasuku.

__

But Azuma doesn’t seem interested in his defense, or his refutation, or his inability to field either. In profile, his face is marble. “By the way, do you normally remember your dreams?”

__

“Not often.”

__

“Ah, that’s unfortunate. But even though that’s the case, I’d like it if you could try remember what it was like to kiss me.”

__

“There’s no way I could forget.”

__

Tasuku’s body moves on its own, driven by some force beyond his control: one hand on Azuma’s neck and the other tilting his chin up. And Azuma’s mouth feels like nothing under his, not even like the ghost of movement, but it tastes – like the ocean. Like sea spray, blown by the wind. The only thing in this stagnant place that feels even halfway real.

__

Azuma’s breath is a whisper against his lips when they part, a quiet intimacy. Tasuku, who can’t quite bring himself to open his eyes, has to fight back a shiver.

__

“See?” Azuma murmurs. “That wasn’t so difficult. I hope you aren’t still worrying about forgetting your lines, now.”

__

In the dark behind Tasuku’s eyelids, he doesn’t know anything at all. Nothing except that – “I am.”

__

“Well, that’s all right. I’ll feed you your lines, so all you have to do is repeat them after me.”

__

“You promise that you know them?”

__

“I promise. I’ve been doing this for a long time, after all. When you’re ready, count to three, and open your eyes.”

__

“I don’t know how to tell if I’m ready.”

__

“Then I’ll give you a little push, mm? One.”

__

Tasuku breathes. “Two.”

__

“Three.”

__

But when he opens his eyes, Azuma is gone. All that’s left of him is the lingering taste of sea-foam. Tasuku touches his lips, but they feel like nothing, and his fingers come away dry.

__

“Azuma?”

__

And suddenly the ocean roars, and the water is rising. It’s seeping into his shoes, soaking into his pants, dragging down the hem of his blazer. His first thought is that he can try swim to shore, even in these clothes; but when he looks back, already knowing what he’ll find, the beach that was behind him is gone. Only still, desolate sea in every direction.

__

He tries to imagine himself a lifeboat, but the dream twists away and out of his hold. Then, chasing some dream logic, he checks his breast pocket for… for something. His wallet, maybe, or his keys, or his phone. But all he finds there is the splash of seawater. So he plucks the golden flower from his buttonhole, cups it between his palms. But then water starts to pour from between his fingers, spilling out over the backs of his hands, and falling into the ocean.

__

He can’t open his hands to check on it. Because the idea that he hasn’t been able to save it, that he can’t get even this much right, is somehow more terrifying than the idea of drowning.

__

And the ocean is up to his ribs and it’s still climbing, and there’s a cold settling into his bones. And he still doesn’t remember any of his lines. And he thinks again about dreaming himself a boat or a life preserver or even a piece of driftwood, something,  _ anything, _ to cling on to. But it’s just him and the sea and the dissolving taste of salt and the water streaming out from between his hands, no matter how tightly he presses them together.

__

Then, abruptly, all the water stops. He’s still up to his chest, but the ocean isn’t rising and his fingers are dry.

__

He opens his hands.

__

(And when he wakes, jack-knifing violently, incapable of drawing enough air into his lungs – Azuma is gone from the bed beside him, too.)

__

*

__

In the end, Muku had decided to wait until he’d memorised all his lines and started to get a grasp on his character before meeting Tasuku for coaching. For his part, Tasuku’s read the first volume of  _ Heart-Stopping Hundred Metres_, and the second, and the third, and even considered returning to room 202 to trade his current set of volumes in for the next batch. And although its hero has slowly begun to come out of his shell, he’s still nothing like any of the princes Tasuku had ever played. Which means that now, with Muku standing before him in one of the practice rooms on a weekday evening, he finds himself unusually at a loss.

__

But he can’t let that show. Not with Muku depending on him; and not with Taichi perched on a chair in the corner, one leg bouncing with restless energy, who’s turned up even though Tasuku had let him down so crushingly on their way home from the supermarket. So Tasuku squares his shoulders, and gives himself a push.

__

“Okay, Sakisaka. Let’s begin.”

__

“Right, okay. What did you want to start with?”

__

“That’s easy. Minagi sent me the script when I asked him, but I want to see your copy.”

__

Muku hands it over without complaint. It’s not as worn-out as Tasuku’s own scripts usually get, but it’s also not much better. And it’s full of annotations in his neat handwriting: as Tasuku flips through it, he catches notes on body language, and delivery, and pronunciation, and what the character might be thinking, and even a tiny sketch of a prince on the very last page. In theory, it definitely seems like he has this under control. Satisfied, Tasuku passes it back.

__

“All right. It seems like you’ve been taking a lot of notes, so that’s a good start. Next, then, who’s playing Broto? It’s Hyodo, isn’t it?”

__

“Yeah, Kyuchan.”

__

“If you’re going to be sharing most of your scenes with him, you should try make your movements more refined. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you of this, but when you’re onstage with such a physical actor, you should pay attention to your body language in turn.”

__

“Ah… yes. I’ve been trying to do that, but it’s good to know you think so, too. Thank you for the reminder, Tasuku. What else?”

__

“Well, that’s up to you. Are there any scenes you want to work through?”

__

“Hmm. Then, maybe the one where Florence meets Rose…? This is just my opinion, but I think the quality of a prince really shows when he meets the common people. And since Rose is the only major role who isn’t another prince, or someone Florence already knows, I want to try bring that out.”

__

“That sounds good. If I remember right, that scene’s between Florence, Rose, and Broto, isn’t it?”

__

“Yeah.”

__

“In that case, let’s run that scene. You play Florence like you normally would, and I’ll read Broto’s lines. Nanao, do you mind reading for Rose?”

__

“Huh?” The boy jolts, clearly not paying attention. He’s been uncharacteristically silent, but Tasuku files that away as something to ask about later. “Yeah, fine with me. That’s Yuki’s role, isn’t it?”

__

“It is. Will that be a problem?”

__

“Nah, it’s nothing.”

__

Taichi stands and shuffles over to Muku, taking the script he’s offered. He flips to the correct page, finds and scans over his lines, mouth moving as he gets used to the feel of them. In the meantime, Tasuku opens the digital copy he’d gotten from Tsuzuru on his phone. He’d read the whole thing when the email first came through, but that had been a few days ago, and he takes a moment to skim the relevant scene again. By the time he’s covered it, the other two are looking at him with expectant gazes.

__

“Sakisaka. How are the three of you positioned in this scene?”

__

“Well, we approach from stage left, which means I’m around here.” Muku takes a few steps towards the door. “I’m meant to be on a horse and dismount once I see Rose, but obviously we can’t do that now. And Kyuchan – I mean, Broto, is a little ahead of me and to my right. Which means Rose is…” Then he paces back in the opposite direction, turns to face Tasuku. “Well, she starts stage right, but we meet her in the middle. So maybe here.”

__

Taichi scurries over, and swaps spots with Muku. Then he crouches down. “And Rose is caught in a trap, so she must start off pretty low to the ground. Right?”

__

“Yeah, that’s right. Although she’s turned away from the audience a little more.”

__

Tasuku backs up as far as he can, so he can see them with the benefit of a little distance. “Even though Hyodo’s standing next to you, I’d rather see how you look from the front. Do you mind if I read from here instead, Sakisaka?” When Muku nods, he checks to make sure his phone is still displaying the script. “Okay. Ready?”

__

Muku nods again; Taichi shoots him a thumbs-up. And the first line is Broto’s, so Tasuku clears his throat and leads off.

__

Since Broto has the fewest number of lines in this particular scene, Tasuku spends most of his time watching the others. Taichi’s a little stiff, which isn’t a surprise, considering that he’s been put on the spot to play a character that isn’t much like his usual; but the rehearsal isn’t about him. Unsurprisingly, Muku comes off as visibly nervous, and would even to an eye less trained than Tasuku’s. This is his big chance to finally play a prince, and his expectations for himself are high. (Or, maybe, he’s nervous because Tasuku is watching him.) But he isn’t bad, not at all. And he certainly doesn’t have any problems a little confidence won’t fix.

__

The last line in the scene is Broto’s – “I got it, I got it!” – before the three of them relax. It’s Taichi who speaks first, falling back into his usual posture and breaking into a grin.

__

“You were so cool, Mucchan!”

__

Muku’s eyes fly wide. “You really think so?”

__

“Yeah. You’re gonna do great. I really liked the way you said that one line, about Rose’s eyes? Super swoonworthy.”

__

“…Swoonworthy? Me?”

__

“I think so too,” Tasuku cuts in. “You looked a little uncomfortable, but I think your only real problem is confidence. You need to believe in yourself more, or the audience won’t be able to believe in you either. A prince can’t have any uncertainty in him.”

__

“Yeah. That’s what Tenma’s been telling me, too. I’ll try my hardest, but I still… I still don’t know if I’m good enough to pull off playing a prince for real.”

__

He flounders. In the end, he settles for the obvious answer, even if it’s going to come off sounding like a platitude. “I think you are, and so does everyone else in Mankai. But I know you won’t believe me if I say that. So, is there anything I can do to convince you?”

__

“Well…” Muku’s shoulders sag. “Um, probably not.”

__

“In that case, we should keep moving. Do you have any more concerns about this role?”

__

“It’s not really a concern, exactly… but I wanted to ask you about Florence’s final line, too. Can you show me how you’d deliver it?”

__

“Me?”

__

“Yeah. I’ve been trying a lot of different deliveries, but I can’t work out which is the best. So, maybe if I can see how you’d perform it, that’ll help me.”

__

Tasuku brings up the script on his phone again, scrolls down to the bottom. “Sure. The very last one? Starting from ‘Of course not’?”

__

“Yeah.”

__

“All right. Give me a minute.”

__

He skims the line a few times, muttering it under his breath as he does, trying to commit it to memory. The words he needs to emphasise are obvious; so are the ones he’d let rise, and the ones he’d let fall. And the line overall rolls nicely off his tongue.

__

Then Tasuku makes himself concentrate. Because while he doesn’t have as strong a grasp on this particular character, he does have over a decade and a half of acting experience, and that should carry him through. So he thinks about Florence’s arc over the course of the play, and how his journey shapes him. About everything Kamikizaka had drilled into him about princes, in his years with God Troupe, and everything that lay on the horizon Tasuku had spent years trying to reach. And as he sinks into character, he casts off the last of his hesitation. He takes one last deep breath, and when he zones back in – he squares his shoulders, tips his chin up, and becomes everything he’s not.

__

“Of course not. I’m honoured to be able to marry a princess with such a beautiful heart. Though I’m the most beautiful in both heart and appearance, of course.”

__

He holds that for a moment, then lets himself slip out of Florence’s persona and back into himself. But the reception he gets is strange, to say the least, and not at all what he’d expected. Both Muku and Taichi have gone deathly silent; the former worrying at his lip, the latter just thoughtful. Tasuku fights the urge to cross his arms over his chest. “Is something wrong?”

__

“Tasuku,” says Muku. His eyebrows are drawn together slightly, like he’s trying to fight back a frown. But his eyes are perfectly clear. “Maybe I’m just saying this because I don’t know anything, but – I don’t think that’s right.”

__

The room feels, somehow, even quieter than it already was; so quiet that Tasuku thinks he can hear his heart as it rises in his throat. But that doesn’t stop Muku, who balls his hands into determined fists.

__

“I mean! Like I said, this is just my opinion, and I don’t know how much that’s worth. If it’s even worth anything. But I think your Florence, just now, was a little too arrogant. And I want the Florence I play to be… more gentle. Or maybe just more yielding.” But then Muku comes back to himself, and his face pales. He drops his head in shame. “Um! Sorry, I know I don’t have the right to say anything like that. You’re the one who has all this experience playing princes, after all, and I’m just a villager, no, a  _ servant  _ in comparison, not fit to be onstage for more than three seconds, and definitely not fit to live until the end of the play –” 

__

Tasuku manages to find his voice, even though it feels dry from disuse. “Sakisaka. Don’t apologise.”

__

“But…!”

__

“I mean it. You corrected me about that because, deep down, you already know what kind of prince you want to play. So channel that confidence into your performance. If that’s what your interpretation of a prince looks like, then it can’t be wrong.”

__

“You mean that?”

__

“I do.”

__

“Oh.” Muku takes a shaky breath, and his whole body seems to rattle with it. “Well. Okay.”

__

“Even though you asked me to help you, all I’ve done today is tell you things you already know. I said this before, but you already know what you’re doing. You just need to turn that outwards.”

__

“Really and truly?”

__

“Really and truly.”

__

“Okay. I know you wouldn’t lie to me, so… I’ll try letting myself believe that.”

__

“Good luck.”

__

“Thank you. I’ll probably need it. Also, there’s nothing else I really wanted to ask, so I think that’s probably all. And thanks again for the help.”

__

Muku bows. Tasuku tries not to fidget. “Of course. Feel free to tell me if there’s anything else.”

__

So he gathers his things, and leaves. And Tasuku can only hope that he’s managed to do enough.

__

But even though Muku has gone, Taichi still lingers, hands deep in the pockets of his hoodie. He hasn’t said a word since the end of the Rose scene, and he seems like he’s thinking hard about something. Once a good, long moment has passed, Tasuku gives him a verbal nudge; but it maybe comes out a little more brusque than it should, blunted by the strange atmosphere.

__

“Did you want something from me, Nanao?”

__

“Not really. I guess I did want to say something about that last line, though.”

__

“Let’s hear it.”

__

“Well… Mucchan had a different interpretation of Florence because his ideal prince and yours aren’t the same. Which is totally fair, and everything. But I thought something else was kinda off.”

__

If there’s one thing Tasuku holds true about himself as an actor, it’s that he always tries to be open to criticism. It’s impossible to improve without critique, after all, a lesson that he’d first learned in high school, but had truly been drilled into him by God Troupe. But this feels like an agitation of a fresh wound, and he pushes down the urge to get defensive. Rationally, he knows that Taichi’s not really levelling a criticism at him, or even of his acting; but of the ideal he’d worn for years which wasn’t his own. But, even if he tries to frame things that way, even if he knows they aren’t really criticising him, it still stings to hear two comments, back to back, that both cut so close to home.

__

“Tell me.”

__

“You sounded like… uh. How to put this. Like you only wanted to marry her cause you thought that was right, maybe. Like it was about chivalry, or the best ending, and not about her.”

__

“You think so?”

__

“Yeah. Like Mucchan said, maybe it’s not my place to say that. But I wanted to do it anyway. Sorry.”

__

Tasuku swallows, but it does nothing to moisten his dusty throat. “No, don’t be. If anything, I’m the one who should be sorry.”

__

“Why, though?”

__

“I keep letting you down lately. First there was the shopping trip, and now I haven’t been able to show you any kind of ideal prince.”

__

“Hey, no, that’s not what this is about. You don’t need to apologise to me either, and it won’t make me happy.” Taichi makes a face as he thinks. “Look, I get that you’re going through a lot. I might not know what it is, or why, but I can still tell. But… I don’t just think you’re cool because you’re strong on the outside. You’re cool because I know you’re gonna be okay.”

__

“Are  _ you?_”

__

“Huh?”

__

“Are you okay. You were distressed when you came to ask for my help, but you seem a bit better now.”

__

“Oh. Yeah, more or less? I mean, I’m pretty much over the girl who turned me down. Like, it would’ve been nice if it’d happened, but I guess it wasn’t meant to be. And I feel fine about that.” Taichi shuffles his his feet, then blurts out, “You’re okay too, right?”

__

When he can, Tasuku tries to maintain a policy of never talking down to the younger members of Mankai. Not that it’s something he has to consciously try and avoid in the first place, considering he’s usually straightforward, but it’s a good thing to keep in mind. And so, wavering between honesty and the fact he still can’t shake the feeling of disappointing Taichi: “I think I’d like to be.”

__

“That kind of sounds like a no.”

__

“I mean that I’m trying to make it a yes.” He fights for composure. “But this isn’t about me. I was supposed to help you, and both times we’ve talked, you’ve ended up trying to help me instead.”

__

“You did help, though. I talked to you about the kind of man I want to be, and then I got to compare that against yours and Mucchan’s. And I guess that’s all I really needed.”

__

“Was it actually?”

__

“Yeah. I know that sounds kinda like a cop-out, but it’s true.”

__

“I feel like I’ve done a terrible job of telling you about my ideal prince, though.”

__

“That’s okay. I know you’re an actions kind of guy, and not really a words one. So you’ve been able to show it to me anyway.” Taichi takes half a step back. “Thanks again for letting me sit in, though.”

__

As if it had even been any use. Instead of saying as much, though, Tasuku turns and busies himself with tidying the practice room. “No problem. See you later.”

__

*

__

Later that night, after he’s practiced with the soccer club and showered and tried in vain to settle himself, some restlessness possesses Tasuku. And since he’s already pushed his body to its limit today, he resorts to letting himself be outside. It’s not too hot out, and he finds himself lingering on the second-floor walkway, savouring the breeze. The wood of the railing is pleasantly cool under his hands.

__

In the courtyard below, Tsumugi and Guy’s latest project – an array of pale, night-blooming flowers – is stark white against the garden beds. And Taichi is conferring with Banri and Tenma about something, in fervent whispers, three heads bowed together over the outside table. Tasuku watches them for a moment, vaguely curious about what they could be discussing so fervently; but then his attention is caught by the sound of a door opening down the hall.

__

When he emerges from his room, Azuma seems – surprised to see him. But he still comes to join Tasuku by the railing, a comfortable distance away. In the moonlight, his eyes shine sometimes gold, sometimes silver.

__

“What are you doing out here?”

__

“…Nothing, really.”

__

“Well, then. Did you want to come in for a drink?”

__

“Not tonight.”

__

Azuma knocks his elbow gently, but he doesn’t pry into Tasuku’s weird mood. Instead, he asks, “How have things been going with Muku and Taichi?”

__

How, indeed. “Sakisaka’s doing fine. He already knows what kind of prince he wants to play. His biggest problem was always going to be confidence, and I’ve done what I can to build him up. It’s Nanao who keeps throwing me off.”

__

“Mmm. Taichi’s surprisingly complicated for someone who’s also simple, I think.”

__

“Back when he came to my room, you ended up offering to help him too. Did he ever take you up on that?”

__

“No, he hasn’t. And I can’t say I’m surprised, honestly. I would have helped him, if he’d asked directly, but it was obvious he wouldn’t rely on me. Not when he admires you so much.”

__

“That might be true. But even if he looks up to me, I’m not sure I understand much about him at all.”

__

“I can see how that’d make it difficult to help him.”

__

“It’s not that, exactly.” Tasuku makes himself smooth out the frown which threatens to overwhelm him. “He said you were princely.”

__

Azuma’s mouth curves upward. “Did he? I’m flattered, and it’s certainly high praise, but I’m not sure it’s true.”

__

“You don’t think you qualify?”

__

“Mmm… I think it’s less about qualification, and more about intent. I don’t know if I’ve ever wanted to become a prince.”

__

“I don’t know if I ever did, either.”

__

The night seems very quiet, after that. But Tasuku resists the urge to paper over his admission, vulnerable as it is, and Azuma doesn’t push it. He does carry on with that line of conversation, though. “It came up the other day, when we discussed – his ideal self. Because Sakisaka’s is obvious, but Nanao’s isn’t. And when I asked him, he gave me ten different answers. All contradictory.”

__

“Well, I can hardly blame him. It’s difficult being seventeen. Did you know what you wanted to be, when you were Taichi’s age?”

__

“Of course. I’ve always wanted to be an actor.”

__

“Ah… that’s right. Ever since you were young, from the moment that you and Tsumugi stood on stage together in elementary school. To be honest, Tasuku, I’m a bit jealous. Most people have an experience that’s a lot more like Taichi’s. We don’t all get to have such a clear purpose in life, or to find it so early.”

__

“Don’t be jealous. It doesn’t make sense for you to envy me.”

__

“I was only joking about that part, but I appreciate the reassurance. You’re cute when you defend my honour.”

__

“I meant it. Don’t tease me.”

__

“I’m not teasing,” Azuma says; but his eyes crinkle at the sight of Tasuku’s frown, and he corrects himself. “Well, I’m mostly not teasing. There’s nothing wrong with thanking you and calling you cute at the same time.”

__

“And you?”

__

“And me?”

__

“What did you want to be when you were seventeen?”

__

Tasuku feels like he’s overstepped as soon as the words have slipped out, knowing what he does about Azuma and his past. But Azuma seems to be seriously contemplating it, judging by the way his mouth twists, and the tiny crease that forms between his eyebrows as he thinks. And when he finally speaks, he doesn’t sound entirely certain. “Hmm. You know, I don’t actually remember. I think I’d accepted that I wouldn’t go to university, but I’m not sure what I was planning to do instead.”

__

It’s an anticlimax, but one which deserves to be let go. “That’s fine. It was an offhand question.”

__

“But I’d like to give you a real answer. And in hindsight, if I wanted to be anything, I probably just wanted to be loved.”

__

Azuma lets that sit for a moment, profile still downturned. He’s not fishing for anything, or intending it as a comment on their perpetual impasse, or letting that be more than it is. His lips are silver under the starlight, the gap between them like the far side of the moon. But his answer invites another question, and it burns in Tasuku’s throat, even though he’s not sure he’s prepared for what he might find.

__

“And? Have you become what you wanted to be?”

__

“I’m starting to get there.” Azuma tucks a stray piece of hair behind his ear. “But it’s one thing to be loved, I think, and another to know that. To live like you’re secure in it.”

__

The silence closes in around them again, intense but not uncomfortable. And Tasuku looks up at the stars. It’s easier than looking at Azuma right now, especially on the heels of that kind of admission. The sky tonight is mostly clear, but a handful of light, wispy clouds mar the view; as he watches, the tail end of one of those clouds drifts away to reveal the mostly-full moon.

__

A prince would have made his intentions obvious earlier on, long before this conversation had hit a downhill slide, the way conversations always do when he’s left to steer them. Seized the moment, and said something romantic. Maybe a classic  _ the moon is beautiful tonight, isn’t it, _ like the prince he had played in his second production as God Troupe’s lead actor. Or maybe they would have said that and chased it with _ ah, but even the moon pales before present company, _ like the prince he had played in his tenth. Or maybe they would have gone straight for  _ I’m in love with you, _ like the prince he had played in the final production he’d ever done with God Troupe, before he had let himself realise what Kamikizaka really was.

__

(In his very first God Troupe play, Kamikizaka had made him deliver a climactic line about – eternity, and foreverness.  _ I shall live with thee for eternity, and close mine own eyes when thee die in obscurity. _ And even though that’s a prince’s line, and the one he’s memorised the most deeply, it’s the only one which he knows to be wrong.)

__

But Tasuku isn’t any of the princes he’s played; he can’t offer eternity, or even stability, and he’s never been anything more than himself. And what he says is, “Can I be completely honest with you?”

__

“Always.”

__

“I don’t trust myself to get this right.”

__

It occurs to him, suddenly, that the courtyard below them is silent. Taichi and company must have gone to bed, or else to seek greener pastures. And there’s nobody else left in the dorm to overhear them; maybe nobody left in the whole world, except for Azuma and his silver-gold eyes. Tasuku makes himself go on.

__

“I know how I feel about you, even if I don’t know what that means about me. And I think I’ve probably known that for a while. But I haven’t done anything, because I’d just… I’d just cause you trouble.”

__

Azuma hums under his breath. “I hear that. But do you know what the most important thing about relationships is, Tasuku? That they’re a team effort. That you’d be allowed to cause me trouble, and that you wouldn’t be the only one trying to get this right.”

__

“I know, but I – even if it’s a team effort, I’d be the weaker half. I’d be the one who lets the side down in the end.”

__

“Why?”

__

“Because I’m not the man you think I am.”

__

“You’re exactly the man I think you are.”

__

“I’m not. I might look admirable from a distance, but there’s not much to me up close.”

__

“All this time, and you still think I haven’t seen you up close?”

__

Azuma scoots a little closer into his personal space. Tasuku wrenches his gaze back to his hands, bloodless where they grip the railing. “You wouldn’t want me if you had.”

__

“I have seen you. Or, even if you think that isn’t true, can you accept that I want to see you? And that I want to want you, too?”

__

“You’re making a mistake,” he says instead, voice threatening to crack. “You’d be making a mistake choosing me.”

__

“I’ve made mistakes before, Tasuku. Lots of them. And I’m familiar enough with them to know you aren’t one.”

__

He says, “Azuma. Please.”

__

“Are you asking me to go, or asking me to stay?”

__

Neither of them are good options. The only safe way forward would be for the two of them to be suspended like this, never letting things resolve one way or the other, never dwindling into the inevitable disappointment that always happens when Tasuku is involved. Caught in a night without a morning.

__

“I don’t know,” he says.

__

“I do. You’re – everything, Tasuku.”

__

Azuma moves his hand to cover Tasuku’s, fingers forming pale dunes in the silver light. It’s a slow, deliberate movement, calculated not to scare him away. He’s still facing out over the courtyard, but he’s looking up at Tasuku out of the corner of his eye. And there’s no way he doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing. That the truce that governs them when they fall asleep together doesn’t, can’t, apply here; not this early in the night, not out in the open. Which means Azuma’s playing for keeps, now. He probably always has been. And Tasuku, lost in the terrain of his own heart, is the last to know.

__

He reflexively wets his lips, an old nervous habit. But he comes away with salt on his tongue, and seawater in his lungs, like a half-remembered dream. His stomach drops like a stone.

__

Tasuku snatches his hand away, makes himself put distance between them. And if talking about bad dreams makes them less real, then maybe that’s true of good dreams as well, and putting a beautiful fiction into words is the surest way to destroy it; but he still doesn’t know which kind this is supposed to be, and he’s never been any good at talking.

__

“I can’t,” he says. The only one of his lines he knows. “I’m sorry, but I – I can’t. And I have to go.”

__

“That’s fine. It’d be bad for my skin if I were up any later, anyway.”

__

It’s not fine. It’s the opposite of fine. But he knows Azuma, and he knows what a losing battle looks like. And when he scrubs at his mouth, trying to wipe away the taste of sea-foam, it only seems to spread on his tongue.

__

“I’ll… I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

__

“I’m sure you will.”

__

“I’m sorry,” he says helplessly, again, unable to let things go. “I told you I –”

__

“You don’t need to apologise.” Azuma steps away, and then away again. His eyes betray nothing at all. “I understand completely. Goodnight, Tasuku.”

__

And when Tasuku glances up, because he can’t bear to look at Azuma pretending not to be hurting, the moon is a pale, beautiful grey. “Goodnight.”

__

*

__

The worst part is that nothing really changes.

__

Azuma doesn’t treat Tasuku any differently: not during practices, and not during their day-to-day interactions. As if the fact they had kissed, and that it had gone strangely, meant nothing to him. But as much as he might be willing to pretend that nothing of any consequence had happened, Tasuku doesn’t believe it. Not when all he’s been able to think about is how  _ neutral  _ Azuma had made himself look when he’d been pushed away.

__

And nights are the most difficult part. Sleep usually comes easily to Tasuku, who’s almost always out like a light before eleven and up at six, but lately his brain won’t switch itself off no matter how long he lies in bed. Guilt and regret chase each other in circles around the inside of his skull, keeping him awake until the exhaustion takes him. But he can’t take anything back, and he doesn’t deserve to apologise, not when there’s no real way to make things right. And on another sleepless night a week in, he does the only thing that seems to make sense: he drives to the ocean.

__

Or he tries to, anyway. He manages to make it out of his room and down the stairs without hitting any major obstacles, or waking anyone up. But when he’s picking his way through the dark courtyard, trying to make his way to the garage in the darkness, he trips over something.

__

A something which turns out to be a some _ one_; and that someone is Hisoka, curled up asleep on the grass. But the impact wakes him, and his body language goes strange and vigilant, like he’s expecting to be attacked by some unknown threat. Then he recognises the person who almost tripped over him, and all the tension drains out of him.

__

“Oh. It’s just you, Tasuku.”

__

“Sorry, Mikage. I didn’t see you. But what are you doing sleeping out here this late?”

__

“…Alice went nocturnal again.”

__

Tasuku glances up at the second floor. Now that Hisoka mentions it, the light  _ had _ still been on in room 205 when he had stepped out, unable to sleep and unable to bear lying awake any longer. Although if Homare isn’t sleeping either, it’s certainly for a much less complicated reason.

__

“Why aren’t you in the lounge instead?”

__

“It’s nice out.”

__

“Can I ask you something?” Tasuku says, because part of his brain thinks it might be important, and he barrels on at Hisoka’s nod. “I know this is sudden, and you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. But… what was falling into the ocean like?”

__

“…I don’t remember that part well.”

__

“Please.”

__

Hisoka, bothering to read the mood for once, actually seems to give that serious thought. Still, his answer comes in trademark fashion. “Wet.”

__

“Wet?”

__

“And dark. And cold. I don’t like thinking about it.”

__

_ Come to the beach with me, _ he almost says. But this isn’t Hisoka’s problem; and even if Tasuku had gone through with asking, he’d probably have mangled the wording.

__

“All right. Thanks.” He shifts a little in place, weighing up his options, but the desire to try and be kind wins out. “Want me to carry you back upstairs?”

__

“It’s fine. You look like you’re going somewhere, anyway.”

__

“Yeah. I’m going… I’m going to the ocean.”

__

“Are you going to jump in?”

__

“Of course not.”

__

“Tasuku,” Hisoka says. His visible eye burns brightly in the moonlight. “Be careful.”

__

As if he knows how to be anything else. “I will.”

__

Tasuku leaves him there, and then he drives. Along deserted late-night roads, trespassing in the hours between one day and the next, and the only proof of life the murmur of the radio tuned to some nothing station. And then he turns a corner and the beach is in front of him, bleached-white sand and the negative space of the ocean. Not the same beach he had visited with Winter Troupe back when they had been strangers, and where he had gone with Azuma during Nocturnality rehearsals, and where Hisoka had emerged reborn from the water; but one just like it, anonymous in the dark. He parks and leans against his car, breeze brisk on his skin, facing out into the emptiness.

__

The sea at night is nothing like it was in his dream. It’s so dark as to be invisible, melding with the distant horizon, impossible to see except as an absence. The only way he knows it’s really there is from the taste of salt, catching on his teeth before it can burrow into his lungs.

__

The time on his phone is two seventeen, and he dials Fuyuki’s number with steady hands. Even though the idea mortifies him, and even though he knows his brother won’t be awake at this hour, and even though he still doesn’t know how to explain the problem of Azuma, which is really the problem of Tasuku. But it bounces straight to voicemail, and he hangs up without leaving a message.

__

The ocean, too, is silent.

__

*

__

Despite all Muku’s worrying, and the Hyodo brothers amplifying that, and the obstacles that inevitably seem to crop up during every Mankai production, Summer Troupe’s run of The Floral Prince goes without a hitch from start to finish. The reviews of opening night all glow with praise for its cast, especially its star, and every performance goes better than the one before. All in all, it’s a triumph. But Tasuku himself doesn’t see it until closing night, packed into the standing-room section with the rest of Winter Troupe. He winds up sandwiched between Guy and Hisoka, and doing a bad job of trying not to glance at Azuma every two seconds, a silver phantom at the other end of their formation.

__

It’s a relief when the lights go down and the curtain goes up. And The Floral Prince is as good as everyone’s been saying it is, or better, even accounting for Tasuku’s obvious bias about Mankai productions. The slightly different feel of the play does a lot for its members, and lets them bring out sides of their acting that don’t usually get to be spotlighted. And Muku is a vision at the centre of it all: a handsome, kind and benevolent prince, even if he’s also a little airheaded. The kind of prince only Muku could have brought to life. His final line is more gentle than Tasuku had performed it, and rich with humanity.

__

They take two curtain calls. Tasuku applauds until his palms sting, until there’s nothing left in him at all. Muku’s eyes are glossy when he straightens from his second bow; beside him, Kumon’s grin threatens to split his face.

__

“Thank you,” Muku calls, although it’s drowned out by the crowd. “Thank you all so much!”

__

As ever, they all sort of end up spilling back into the dorm lounge afterward. Even though Muku had insisted he’d be happy just to hang out with Summer Troupe at the end of Floral Prince’s run, the usual suspects had ended up planning a party anyway, because it was tradition. Or otherwise because Muku might have managed to worm his way out of the celebration, and it’s one he thoroughly deserves.

__

So Tasuku… mingles. He talks to Azami about the upcoming must-win Falcons match against the Sharks, and to Chikage about a junk shop that’s opened near his old university. He seeks out Kumon, congratulates him on his first performance as co-lead, gets an enthusiastic thank-you in response. Omi flags him from the kitchen to taste a noodle salad before he serves it. Tenma tells him about a director he knows, who helms a Meiji-era period drama and is always looking to fill guest roles, and promises to get in contact. Homare tries to rope him into visiting a museum on Wednesday, because Hisoka has refused and Tsumugi is already booked. Azuma doesn’t even look at him. And he’s debating whether or not to slip out early – he has the excuse of his morning runs, after all – when someone calls his name.

__

“There you are!” Muku’s bouncing with restless energy, or maybe something nervous, as he scurries over. He’s changed back into casual clothing, but there are still hints of stage makeup around his eyes. “I’ve been looking all over for you, Tasuku. What did you think of the performance?”

__

Across the lounge, over Muku’s shoulder, a flash of silver catches Tasuku’s gaze. Azuma is talking animatedly to Sakyo, smile reaching all the way to his eyes for once. Tasuku’s stomach twists into itself.

__

But he isn’t supposed to be thinking about Azuma; he’s supposed to be thinking about Muku, who deserves all the praise he can muster. “I thought you were excellent. It was easy to believe in you as a prince, and as a lead actor. You’ve come a long way.”

__

“Ah – really? I’m not sure if that’s true, but hearing it from you means a lot. And, no matter what, I want to keep working to grow in every way I can.”

__

“That’s a good attitude to have. I’m looking forward to seeing you perform as the lead again.”

__

“Yeah. I won’t let you down.” Muku bows deeply. “I want to say it again, though. Thank you for helping me act as my ideal prince.”

__

“Of course, Sakisaka. But it was all you. I just helped draw parts of that out.”

__

He expects Muku to freeze up at that, or go into one of his negativity spirals, or else bounce the compliment back. But the boy’s face sets into something determined, and he meets Tasuku’s gaze. And that spurs him to keep talking, even though he might make a fool of himself.

__

“This is off-topic, but… can I ask you something?”

__

“Um, sure. I can’t promise I’ll be any help, but I’ll try.”

__

“If you couldn’t be a prince, what would you want to be instead?”

__

That makes Muku frown. “I don’t know. I’ve looked up to princes for years and years. I don’t think I can remember a time where I didn’t want to grow up to be that kind of man.”

__

“I know, but…” Tasuku catches himself. “Sorry. Don’t worry about it.”

__

“No, I want to give you a real answer.”

__

“This is a celebration for your first lead play. Don’t let me drag that down for you.”

__

“You’re not, Tasuku. Not after you did so much for me.” Muku’s eyes focus on the middle distance as he thinks, on something Tasuku can’t see, but they’re sharp when they flick back to him. “I guess, when it comes down to it wanting to be a prince is just one way of thinking about… becoming everything I can be. Because even if I couldn’t be a prince, I’d still want to try and be a kind, noble man that others look up to. By any other name. If that makes sense, anyway.”

__

And the more he thinks about it, the more it does. Because, before Tasuku had been told that he should want to become a prince, he had wanted to become Fuyuki. But, in the gap between, in the years that had separated joining God Troupe from realising that his brother was the wrong kind of impossible dream, he must have wanted to become something else. He can’t remember the specifics these days, even if he tries, but that doesn’t matter. He had wanted to become an actor, definitely; and himself, probably; and loved, for certain, even if he’d never been deprived enough of love to think that he needed it. But whatever that wish had been, whatever version of himself had made it, whatever horizon he had been facing towards, it must have had worth.

__

So even if he can’t become a prince, maybe he can become himself. Maybe he can just start running, even if he doesn’t know where he’ll end up, and trust in the man he’ll become along the way. And he already has an idea of that trajectory, and of who that might be. Someone who pours his entire being into theatre. Who mentors the company’s younger members, and carries groceries back to the dorm so Izumi doesn’t have to. Who fixes Homare’s pocketwatch when it breaks, makes regular plans to go jogging with Guy, ferries Hisoka to bed if he falls asleep in the courtyard. Someone who’s a trusted comrade, a trusted friend. He can be someone capable of looking Tsumugi in the eye, despite everything. Someone who learns from his mistakes, who gets things wrong in the service of someday getting them right. And he can probably be someone in love with Azuma, if he can just find the strength to honestly beg forgiveness, even though he’s not sure he deserves it.

__

“It does. Thanks, Sakisaka. I needed to hear that.”

__

“Oh… really? Well, I’m glad I could repay you for helping me, even if it’s only a little.”

__

On the other side of the room, Sakyo excuses himself from his conversation, off to defuse some impending Autumn Troupe blowup. And Tasuku seizes his chance.

__

“No,” he says, “you helped a lot more. Sorry, but there’s something I have to do.”

__

He pushes himself off the wall, makes himself move forward. The path from one side of the lounge to the other stretches out into infinity, like he’s an astronaut out on a spacewalk, or else a hundred metres underwater, in a world leeched of air and gravity. Tasuku passes by Kazunari, trying to wheedle Yuki into an afterparty selfie; Itaru and Citron, tucked into a corner with phones tilted sideways, muttering in gamer-speak; Hisoka, asleep on the dining table; Sakyo, forcing himself between Banri and Juza as they bristle at each other, no doubt at odds over the most minor thing; Izumi and Tsumugi, deep in the kind of conversation about theatre that he’d join on any other night; Taichi, who meets his gaze with eyes full of brittle hope, and nods minutely.

__

And then – he’s arrived. The fall of Tasuku’s shadow shakes Azuma from a vague reverie, and he glances up. Some impossible emotion flickers in his gaze, a dark shape at the bottom of a clear lake, but he smooths it away under his usual expression.

__

“Hi.”

__

“Good evening, Tasuku. Don’t you think the play was wonderful?”

__

“It was. Everything came together well, and Sakisaka really pulled through.”

__

“Well, of course he did. He was blessed with an excellent teacher.”

__

He can’t quite pretend that one doesn’t sting, even if – or especially if – Azuma means it. And on one hand, this is exactly what he deserves. To lose someone else important through his own inadequacy, through nobody’s fault but his own, through not being qualified for anything he’s ever wanted. But, on the other: he owes it to Muku, and Taichi, and Tsumugi, and Fuyuki, to try and be the man they all seem to think he is. To say nothing of what he owes to himself.

__

“Actually, I… I didn’t come here to talk about this. Can we go somewhere else?”

__

*

__

The courtyard is empty when the two of them step outside. It’s a pleasantly cool evening; while the sun’s already gone down, and the worst of the day’s heat has faded, the light still lingers. 

__

For the sake of privacy, Tasuku leads him across the courtyard, into the small corridor between room 101 and the stairs. They probably won’t be disturbed here, not unless Sakuya or Citron decide to leave the party early; and that’s maybe the best neutral ground they’ll be able to get. Even in the shadow of the building, Azuma’s face is soft in the lavender twilight. Tasuku looks past him, to the garden beds and their night-blooming flowers, just starting to unfurl, and to the sky beyond. Then he drags his eyes back to Azuma, and makes himself breathe.

__

“Sorry for calling you out here.”

__

“Mm. You know I don’t mind, though.”

__

Tasuku does mind, but he also knows that he has to do this now, or he might never have the courage again. He takes another breath, and this time there’s just enough air in his lungs. “There’s a lot I want to say. Will you listen to all of it?”

__

“Of course.”

__

“Then, first. I owe you an apology. For running away the other day, because I know it must have hurt you. Even if you were trying to pretend it didn’t.”

__

“You don’t owe me anything.”

__

“No, I… Azuma, don’t do this. I fucked up. I need us to agree on that.”

__

“Even if you did, that doesn’t matter. It’s already all in the past.”

__

“It does matter. You told me you thought I wasn’t a mistake, and then I hurt you. And this isn’t the first time I’ve done something like that, either. You know I ruined things badly enough in the past that I didn’t see Tsumugi for years. That he was scared of me when we met again. And that it took a long time for him to stop.” Tasuku’s next breath is shaky, ragged at the edges. “I don’t know what I’d do if I ever made you afraid of me.”

__

The summer breeze whispers through the courtyard, stirring the flowers behind Azuma. He somehow looks even paler against them, like something that might, also, wither and fade away in the autumn. Tasuku makes himself keep going.

__

“I can explain why I ran away that night. It won’t be a good reason, and it won’t justify what I did. But you deserve the option to know.”

__

“Well, you can, if you’d like. But I already know why you ran. It’s because I was the one who made  _ you _ afraid, Tasuku.”

__

A freezing wind slices through Tasuku, and he crosses his arms against the imagined cold. “That’s not true.”

__

“Isn’t it? I was the one who challenged the way things were by trying to take your hand. Which was foolish of me, but I… I do a lot of foolish things, still. I should have been happy with what we already had. Because I was, once, and I could be again. Even this is enough for me, you know.”

__

“You don’t mean that.”

__

“I might.”

__

“No, listen. You shouldn’t have to feel like you’re living off scraps, and I don’t want you to do that on my account. And stop trying to take the blame for everything. Please.”

__

“Then what do you suggest?”

__

“We can both be sorry.”

__

As much as Azuma is trying to keep his face still and neutral, that does make his lips twitch. “How very straightforward. But would that really solve anything?”

__

“It wouldn’t take back the fact I hurt you. But it might let us feel like we’re even again.”

__

Maybe, in general, that would be the wrong thing to say. But Tasuku isn’t talking to just anyone, he’s talking to Azuma: Azuma, who he knows better than almost anyone, and who’s always appreciated his bluntness. And being himself has always worked with Azuma before, after all.

__

“All right,” Azuma says at last, and there’s a familiar warmth in his eyes again. It’s still a brittle one, delicate as glass and still fragile around the edges, but it kindles a forgotten ache in Tasuku. “Let’s do things your way, then. Even?”

__

“Even. But I still have more to say, if you’ll keep listening.”

__

“Of course I will.”

__

“All right. Well. This might sound stupid, but I’ve been thinking about the kind of man I want to be, lately. Because I’ve been working with Sakisaka and Nanao, but also because of you. I think I’ve been thrown off by a lot of things.”

__

“By me?”

__

“No. Never by you. Just in general, I think. And I don’t know if I have an answer yet, but I think I’m at least starting to grasp it.”

__

“You don’t have to say anything you don’t want to,” Azuma says, gold eyes slicing softly through him. “But… I’d be honoured to hear it, if you’d like to share.”

__

“I think you already know all this about me, anyway. But… I’m nothing like a prince. I don’t even know if I ever really wanted to be. I’m just myself, and who I am probably isn’t enough. I’m too stubborn about things. I get tunnel vision, and I get stuck in my own head. I’m slow to act a lot of the time. And I’m slowest to act about the things which matter the most. It’s taken me this long to get this far with myself, and that isn’t very far at all. But I know I’ve always wanted to be an actor, and I know I’ve always wanted to be… a good man. Who I like – who I’m interested in, doesn’t change either of those things.”

__

“I think,” Azuma says, with something a little raw in his tone Tasuku can’t quite pin down, “that if you’re really trying to be a good man, then you’re already on the way. And I wouldn’t just say that to anyone, you know. You’ll be able to get there in the end, because you’re you, Tasuku.”

__

“Yeah. I hope so, anyway. And here’s the last thing I wanted to tell you: I like you. Please go out with me.”

__

Somehow, even though Tasuku had thought he had obviously been setting up the jump, that still knocks Azuma off balance. The mask he’s had fixed in place through most of this conversation drops unceremoniously off, leaving his eyes wide and the set of his mouth horribly uncertain.

__

“…Huh?”

__

“This isn’t just an apology. I’m also asking if you’ll go out with me, even though I’m not a prince. Even though I’ll probably end up hurting you again. And even though I might not get this right, and I’ve already gotten it wrong. Because I’ve never met anyone who makes me want to, more than you.”

__

Azuma watches him, still with that vulnerable expression which could mean anything. And, after a long moment, his eyes crinkle as he breaks into a smile.

__

“Really?”

__

“Really.”

__

“It’s very like you to apologise, outline your own flaws, and only ask me out after that.”

__

“I’m not good at talking about these things. But it’s about the principle –”

__

“I know, Tasuku. And I’ll accept both your offer and your apology. Because I happen to like you an awful lot, and a misstep or two can’t change that. Besides, I could never turn down such an earnest proposal.”

__

“I meant it. Every word.”

__

“I know,” Azuma says again, and his smile is shaky at the edges. “So you’re mine.”

__

Tasuku’s embarrassment, which he’s somehow managed to kick aside for this entire conversation, returns in full force. “Something like that.”

__

Azuma laughs, quiet but free. The sound makes Tasuku’s heart swell, suddenly too large in his chest, and he has to push down his own grin in response. “You’re so… Tasuku, Tasuku.”

__

“Is that meant to be a compliment?”

__

“It is. I’m happy, you know.”

__

And with his eyes shining fierce and tender, against the summer evening, he’s so radiant that he has to mean it. That makes Tasuku reach out, almost unthinkingly. Azuma’s cheek is soft against his fingertips, and gives beneath his touch, but the line of his jaw is like steel underneath. For all the time Tasuku’s spent trying to avoid bringing things to a head with him, he’s not delicate at all. And Azuma is – warm. Which isn’t news to him, of course, but it feels like so much to be reminded of.

__

He’s not sure which one of them closes the gap first. If Azuma kisses him, or if he kisses Azuma. Just that they’re kissing, and that with his eyes closed, with the darkness to hide him, it  _ is _ easy. His world narrows to the way Azuma’s mouth moves under his own, to his fingers pressing hungrily into skin; to the flare of heat which runs through him, foreign in its intensity, like nothing he’s ever felt. He presses forward, closer – 

__

There’s a far-off sound, a heavy thump from the direction of the lounge, and they spring apart. And the world rushes back in, between them. He drinks in the sight of Azuma: a little flushed and a little dazed, and it’s interesting that he looks about as affected as Tasuku feels. He had assumed that Azuma, older and more experienced, who’s probably had more first kisses than Tasuku’s gone for morning jogs, would be over them by now. Maybe their playing field isn’t completely uphill, after all.

__

“Well,” Azuma says softly.

__

“Well.”

__

“Are you still afraid?” he asks, like he thinks Tasuku might turn to foam and drift away on the wind. Even though they’ve parted, they’re still standing very close together, enough that anyone passing by would know exactly what they’ve been up to.

__

“Terrified,” Tasuku admits. “But a good kind. Not the kind that’s going to make me run, this time.”

__

“So you’re still okay with this?”

__

“…Okay would be an understatement.”

__

“Well, that’s good. I just wanted to check up on you. But if that’s your answer, then I’m glad.”

__

“We should get back to the party, though,” Tasuku says, because otherwise he might not be able to tear himself away from Azuma at all. “People are probably wondering where we’ve gone.”

__

“Mm, you’re right. We wouldn’t want anyone to come looking for us. And, if they did, I’m not sure I’d want to be found.”

__

“That would definitely make them wonder. In a bad way.”

__

“I know, I know. But, still, it’s fun to think about.”

__

And it is. The idea of escaping somewhere together, having found himself again. After so long spent wandering in circles, always looking down at his own feet, and not out toward the horizon; and to have found Azuma at the same time, already waiting for him. But for now, they do need to return to the lounge, and save getting wrapped up in each other for later. Spurred by some tender impulse, Tasuku steps back and holds out his hand. When Azuma takes it, only a moment or two later, his fingers are gentle against Tasuku’s palm.

__

“We’ll be all right,” Tasuku says. “We’re going to be all right.”

__

**Author's Note:**

> if you made it this far - thank you for reading. here's my [twitter.](https://twitter.com/farewellarcadia)
> 
> EDIT: tam drew art of dream azuma!!!! [view him](https://twitter.com/songbirdsonata/status/1301687886287384576)


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